


i t 



f { 



HIBRAHY OF CONGRESS.; 

t ^M H^ \ 

& ^ 

f UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, t 



u 



TALES AND TAKINGS, 



SKETCHES AND IICIDENTS, 



Pf\ 



FROM THE 



/ 

ITINERANT AND EDITORIAL BUDGET 



Eey. J. y/wATSOiS^ D. D., 

EDITOR or THE NORTHWESTERN CHRISTIAN ADVOCATE. 



<^. 



/r 




PUBLISHED BY CARLTON & PORTER, 

200 MULLERRY-STREET. 







^"jl 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in tlie year 1856, by ^ 
C A ELTON & PORTER, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District of 
New-York. 






\\ 



This Library 

OF Congress 

WASHINGTON 



^ 

^ 



PEEFACE. 



Several articles found in this volume are 
from the pen of paid contributors to the com- 
piler's paper during his ten years' connection 
with the press. They have been deemed of 
too much merit to be suffered to pass into for- 
getfulness. A stiU smaller number of articles 
have been appropriated from that pubKc do- 
main of literature in which are to be found 
many gems, and to which all seem to have an 
equal right. He has made the appropriation 
the more readUy, as a few of his intellectual 
children have strayed beyond his reach into 
this wide field. In other words, he has con- 
tributed his share to it, and is not, therefore, 
without the right of making drafts upon it.' 
The staple of the volume, however, is from the 
author's pen. 



6 PEEFACE. 

If fiction plays any part in the " Tales," it 
will be found here in a form wholly unexcep- 
tionable, even to the most fastidious. So far as 
regards the author's "Incidents," these are facts; 
and in the description given of missionating in 
cabins on the frontier of the early West, he 
thinks the reader will find here a few pictures 
more true to the life than he has ever met 
with elsewhere. 

As it respects the "Takings," these consist 
of the mere neglige descri23tions of sundry 
members of the late General Conference. They 
are not intended as eulogies of their subjects. 
Their principal merit consists in what the 
author trusts will be deemed just discrimina- 
tions of character and useful suggestions on the 
subject of preaching. The young preacher will 
be glad to find them here; the friends of the 
men described will be glad to find them here. 

The number of these "Takings" would have 
been considerably increased but for the con- 
dition of the author's health rendering the 
early completion of the volume necessary. As 
to the "Sketches," these are on various but 
important topics. 



PBEFACE. T 

The contents of tlie volume are composite; 
the spirit of it homogeneous. Age and gravity 
will here })e amused, if not instructed, while 
the Sabbath-school scholar and the little miss 
that would while away an hour in the parlor, 
will here find something equally adapted to 
their taste and capacity. It possesses the at- 
tractions of some bad books which we hope it 
may supplant, while it possesses the' merit of 
being, the author hopes, a good book. The 
author makes no literary claims in its behalf. 
The attacks of the critic upon it, therefore, will 
be without challenge and without rejoinder. 

As a trifling souvenir^ the author tenders 
this volume to his extensive acquaintances 
and many friends, hoping it may lighten some 
leaden hours which are wont to rest at times 
upon all hearts, that it may inculcate the sen- 
timents of virtue and religion with which it 
abounds, and be the means, at the same time, 
of cherishing some fond remembrances which 
no one cares to forget. The author's relation 
to the public has extended his acquaintance 
beyond that which falls to the lot of most men. 
Where his paper has gone, he will flatter him- 



8 PREFACE. 

self that his little book will go. He will ap- 
peal to the sympathy of none, as the book will 
be worth its cost, but he will not conceal the 
fact, that a principal object of issuing this vol- 
ume is to secure means to be employed in re- 
cruiting his exhausted health. In other words, 
if the profits of this enterprise should be satis- 
factory, they may enable its author hereafter to 
present to his friends something more worthy 
of their patronage. 

Note. — ^The reader, we presume, has been made 
acquainted with the fact that the lamented author of 
this volume did not live to employ the means referred 
to in recruiting his exhausted health, as he died just 
before the work was sent to the press. — ^Ediior. 



CONTENTS, 



FAGK 

THE YOUNG PREACHER 15 

A Family Scene — A Reader without Listeners — The Solemn " To- 
morrow" — A Favorite Sou — The First Sermon — The Preacher's 
Solicitude, and a Mother's Counsel — The taunting Brother — 
Going to Church — " Mother" would not go — First Appearance in 
the Pulpit — A Failure, followed by a thrilling Appeal — Power of a 
Mother's Prayers — The First Sermon rewarded with a " Sheaf." 



SELF-DISPARAGEMENT ; ob, Eldee Blunt and Sistee Sceub 31 



THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 



Fixing for the Preacher — His Arrival incog., and the Treatment 
he received — The Preacher taught the Number of Command- 
ments, but is too obstinate to learn — The " Eleventh" Command- 
ment. 

THE VILLAGE SLANDER 65 

How easily Mr. Blasset believes a false Report — The Party at 
Squire Blackwell's — Talk about Miss James — Mr. Windham's »' 
Interview with the Village Minister — "With Mr. Jones — How 
Suspicion blinds the Eyes — Wholesome Advice — Chasing down 
a lAe— Ankle not Uncle. 



10 CONTENTS. 

* PAGE 

CHARITY ENVIETH NOT 69 

How a Velvet Talma and an Eight-dollar Bonnet troubled Miss 
Prime — How Mrs. Snelling sighed forth the Buddings of Unchar- 
itableness — Give according to your Means — Dress to suit your 
Condition — Quandary about Carpets — Seeing the "Mote," but 
overlooking the "Beam" — Obtruding Thoughts — The Trials of 
Sirs. Snelling — Blindness of Envy or false Estimate of Character 
— A touching Interview. 

THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER.. 85 

Chapter I. — A Journey — Camp-Meeting — Character in a Squat- 
ter Cabin — A " Hen-pecked" Husband — The " high larnt" Nigger 

— A Magniloquent Description of his Eloquence — The Backwoods- 
man's Philosophy — A promising Family — Composure in refer- 
ence to the Future — The Kid -gloved Missionary and Backwoods 
Preacher — Those who "Don't hoe it enough" — Arrival at Camp- 
Meeting — The Eloquent Preacher — His opening Prayer 85 

Chapter II. — A Sermon — The Shadow of a Great Rock — More 
about the Eloquent Negro 98 

Chapter HI. — Another Sermon — The River of Life 109 

THE NEW PLEASURE 123 

Mr. ,Bolton made Miserable by loving Himself — A Mother's Love 
and Counsel fail to melt the Frost of Selfishness — Mr. Bolton's 
Religious Motives — Money and Peace of Mind — Giving which 
leaves a Sting — A broken Leg leads to the breaking of a Heart — 
Mr. Bolton and Farmer Gray — Mr. Gray's Farm. 

A LOVE-FEAST AMONG PEOPLE OF COLOR 141 

THE UNMEANT REBUKE 155 

The sad Reverse — The fatal Touch of the Destroyer — Innocence 

* involved in the Disgrace of its Parents — " People mustn't see us 

playing with Drunkard's Children" — The irresistible Reformers 

— The Great Reform — The Drunkard's Wife restored to Happi- 
ness, and his Children to Society. 



CONTENTS. 11 

PAGE 

THE UNWELCOME PREACHER 169 

We must have Brother Johnson — " Methodism will Die unless we 
have a Man of Talents" — The Failure to have their Wishes grati- 
fied — The Preacher who was Sent — His Journey with Bishop 
George — The Bishop takes the Asthma — All Remedies fail to re- 
lieve him — Finally relieved by Prayer — The hearer of Evil Tid- 
ings — The Preacher's Despondency — The Way it was cured — 
The Efficiency of Prayer — His Triumph — Great Revival. 

MARRYING RICH 181 

Chapter I. — Farmer Barnwell — His "good Luck" and happy 
Home — Charles Barnwell — Mrs. Barnwell and her great Fault., . 181 

Chapter II. — Mrs. Barnwell's Solicitude for Charles — Her Ad- 
%-ice to marry Rich — Miss Marks, the Heiress — Charles confesses 
his Espousal 186 

Chapter HI. — Charles Barnwell as a Student — The Stranger at 
the Prayer-meeting — The Sewing Circle — Mrs. Gray and her 
Niece, Miss Ellen Gray — Miss Gray as Sewing Girl — An Evening 
at Squire Little's 191 

Chapter rV. — The "Crisis" — Charles engaged to a poor Seam- 
stress 200 

Chapter V. — What Charles meant by marrying Rich — Mr. and 
Mrs. Barnwell to attend the Wedding — Mrs. Barnwell greatly 
troubled about their Debut among the Rich and Fashionable Grays 

— The Gray Family in an humble Cottage — A Denouement — Mrs. 
Barnwell discovers the true Riches of Ellen Gray — The Marriage 

— Another Denouement — The double Plot exposed — Mrs. Ellen 
Barnwell as Rich in Goods as in Graces 205 

THE SEA-CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTERS 217 

The Theater — The Disgust of one of its Devotees — The happy 
Change of View and Place of Resort — The Season of Penitence — 
Learning how to Pray — A new Trial — The Joys of the young 
Convert versus the Pleasures of the Ball-room and the Theater — 
Praying a Sister Home from a Ball — The happy Conversion of 
that Sister. 



12 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY 233 

THE TEXAS CAMP-MEETING 299 

REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT — His sad End akd Chkistiak 

Character 313 

DENNIS AND THE PRIEST — A Dialogue 331 

THE HOPE OP CITIES ILLUSTRATED — A Plea for Sabbath 

Schools 341 

THE POOR WASHERWOMAN 355 

A QUARTERLY MEETING OF OLDEN TIME 365 

LIGHTS AND SHADES IN ITINERANCY 377 

GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS 387 

Rev. John Dempster, D.D 387 

Rev. WILLL4.M F. Farbington 395 

Rev. F. C. Holliday, A.M 399 

Rev. John Hannah, D.D 403 

Rev. Hiram Mattison, A.M 406 

Rev. Isaac M. Leihy 409 

Rev. F. J. JoBsoN, A.M -. 412 

Rev. W. L. Harris, D.D 418 

Rev. Robinson Scott 423 

Rev. Edward Thomson, D.D., LL.D 425 

Rev. Daniel Wise, D.D 435 

Rev. Resin Sapp 436 

Rev. Luke Hitchcock 440 

Rev. W. p. Strickland, D.D 444 

Rev. J. G. Dimmitt 450 

Rev. J. L. Thompson 453 

Rev. B. F. Crary, A.M 458 

Rev. R. S. Rust, A.M 462 



THE 



YOUNG PREACHER 



THE YOUNG PKEACHER. 



We were sitting together in the quiet parlor at 
Oakwood Farm, Mi*, and Mrs. Ray, and Elliot and I. 

Elliot was reading aloud, but I doubt whether one 
of his listeners could have told the subject of the book, 
or the name of its author. Mr. Kay sat, as was his 
custom, with his hat on, though now it was drawn 
further over his eyes than usual. He was leaning 
back in his chair, with his hands clasped before him, 
and his two thumbs working restlessly over and over 
each other — and, could it be possible ? yes ; there was 
moisture gathering in his eyes; great, half-formed 
tears, started beneath the lids, but were quickly forced 
back again. It could not be that he was affected 
by what his son was reading, for Elliot was smiling 
at the sentiment his lips had just expressed. And his 
mother — she had been knitting, but her work was ly- 
ing idly in her lap, her elbow rested on the table 
close by Elliot's hand, lier cheek lay in her uplifted 
palm, and she was gazing, with moist eyes too, full 



16 THE YOUNG PREACHEK. 

upon Elliot's face. Perhaps he thought she was listen- 
ing to him, and drinking in the beautiful sentiments 
that flowed like music from his lips. But I knew she 
was not, neither was his father, neither was I. 

We were all thinking of to-morrow. This was Sat- 
urday night, and to-morrow Elliot was to stand for the 
first time in the sacred desk to speak of the Saviour, 
and of salvation to those who had known him from 
his birth. He was natm-ally nervous, excitable, and 
much iDclined to indulge in a depressing melancholy. 
He had been treated by his father with uncommon 
tenderness, almost idolized by his mother, and had 
little worldly experience, except what he had gained 
among his college mates, where his generous nature 
had always made him a favorite. 

He had prepared himself for the ministry by close 
and careful study ; his natural love of reading had 
made him acquainted with the best speakers of an- 
cient and modern times, and yet his friends predicted 
his failure. Elliot, too, had his fears. He had been 
talking to his mother about it, and she had encourag- 
ed him with words of hope, while fear and trembling 
were in her heart. " Think of the sacredness of your 
mission, Elliot," she said ; " think, not of your own 
weakness, but of Him who has said, ' As thy day, so 
shall thy strength be.' But do not dwell too much 
upon the morrow, now. You are too much excited; 
read something that will calm you ; it will do us all 



THE YOUNG PREACHER. 17 

good ; let us forget that to-morrow is more than any 
other day." 

And Elliot had forgotten it, apparently, for his eye 
kindle;^ as he glanced along the lines, keeping time 
with the rapidly moving melody of his lips, and now 
and then he smiled or raised his hand impressively 
as some new and startling idea was presented. 

But his father had not forgotten it, else why that 
solemn look so seldom seen on his jolly face, and why 
did his thumbs perform such rapid and untiring revo- 
lutions over each other, as they always did when 
deep or unusual emotions were struggling in his great 
heart? His mother had not forgotten it, as the love 
that filled her swimming eyes, and the fear that paled 
her cheek, could witness. And I, as I watched the 
changing emotions, flitting like light and shade across 
his eloquent face, I could only think of the coming 
ordeal, the dreaded, yet hoped-for to-morrow. 

ISTeither had Charles, his wild and reckless young 
brother, forgotten it, for he broke in upon our 
enchanted circle with a boisterous laugh that startled 
his father from his dreamy reverie, made Elliot close 
his book, and brought a reproof from the mild lips of 
his mother. 

" So, we shall have a preach to-morrow, shall we. 
Brother EUy, old boy, eh ?" he exclaimed, throwing 
his riding gloves and whip into one corner and his cap 
into another. " Hurrah for the Bev. Brother Bay! 



18 THE YOUNG PREACHER. 

How mmij converts do yon expect to make to-mor- 
row, EUy ?" 

" Do not be so rude, Charles," said Elliot, whose 
flushed cheek told how painfully he felt his brother's 
raillery. 

" It don't hurt your feelings to be called Brother 
Bay, does it? I declare you blush like a girl ; better 
get used to it now, and wear off your modesty before 
you go out among folks. I'll bet a dollar you'll faint 
away before meeting's half out to-morrow." 

" Charles !" said his father, as his foot came down 
emphatically upon the floor. 

" Mother," whispered Elliot, in a low tone, as he 
turned toward her, with cheeks and lips white enough 
now, " Mother, cannot you persuade Charles to stay 
at home to-morrow ?" 

'''No, you don't!" exclaimed Charles; "I'm going to 
church, and I'm going to sit exactly in front of 
Brother Ray, and the first word he says that don't 
tally with his everyday life, I'm going to take my 
hat and march straight out, making my bow to him 
as I go along. There's no joking about it now, Elliot. 
I'll do it; see if I don't!" 

It was in vain that Elliot pleaded, that his mother 
coaxed, and his father threatened. Charles was a 
passionate, headstrong, reckless boy, yet not altogeth- 
er without feeling wheii it could be rightly awakened. 
He asserted that he was as good as Elliot, and had 



THE YOUNG PREACHER. 19 

just as much of a call to preach. Elliot's delicate hands 
and nimble tongue, he said, were the greatest qualifi- 
cations he had to entitle him to a place in the pulpit, 
but he knew if his past life should rise up before him 
then, his tongue would be dumb and his pretty hands 
drop out of sight ; " and," continued he, " I'm going 
to sit and look at him in such a way, that he can't 
help thinking of some things I know of." 

"Words were thrown away upon the willful boy that 
night, and as our little company parted, we sought 
our respective rooms with the most unpleasant fore- 
bodings for the morrow. 

Charles and I rode together that Sabbath morning. 
Elliot and his father were riding before us; his mother 
did not go. I^eed I tell any mother why? I saw 
her hands tremble as she tied Elliot's cravat that 
morning. I heard her say, " Be strong in the Lord, 
my son. God will bless you. Think that your 
mother is praying for you, and if you should fail — " 

"I shall never know it from you, mother," he 
replied. 

All the way as we rode along I tried to persuade 
Charles from his purpose, but in vain. "Elliot," he 
said, "had always been his mother's favorite ; he was 
growing proud. He had been to college, and now he 

had come home to set himself above those who were 

ik. 

as good as he. It would do the pale-faced pet good 
to humble him a little, and he meant to do it." 



20 THE YOUNG PEEACHER. 

Elliot had just taken his seat at the little table 
inside the altar, (for he would not go up into the 
pulpit this time,) when Charles came in. He had 
stayed behind purposely, and now walked up the aisle 
with a bold and defiant air, and seated himself in a 
conspicuous place about midway between the gallery 
and the altar railing. Mr. Eay sat in one of the side 
sKps, where he would not face his son, and I was on 
the opposite side, where I could see them all. 

Elliot opened the Bible before him ; his face was 
deadly pale. I looked at the father; his eyes were 
cast down, his thumbs slowly revolving in their 
accustomed orbits. Charles tried to preserve the 
look of careless unconcern with which he came in, 
but I thought I could detect traces of a better feeling 
in the restless workings of his mouth, and the almost 
pitying glance of his half-averted eyes. There 
was a deathlike silence throughout the congregation. 
Presently an old man, the patriarch of the neighbor- 
hood, rose and said, " Let us look to God in prayer." 

He stood within the railing very near to Elliot, for 
he was quite deaf in one ear, and it had been his 
privilege for years to sit immediately " beneath the 
droppings of the sanctuary ;" and I thought how com- 
forting it must be to the young preacher, to have one 
so loved and so good to stand beside him in that hour 
of trial. The prayer was short, but appropriate*^ and 
affecting. Many a heart responded " Amen " to tha 



THE YOUNG PREACHER. 21 

blessings invoked on Elliot's head, and many an eye 
was dim with tears as the assembly turned again 
toward the sacred desk. 

Some one commenced singing the familiar hymn, 

" In all my Lord's appointed ways." 

The whole congregation rose to their feet and sung 
as with one voice. Tlie color went and came on 
Elliot's cheek, as the inspiriting w^ords echoed from 
lip to lip, and at the close of the hymn he looked 
almost like one inspired. Hardly were the people 
seated before his voice was heard distinct and clear, 
reading the 15th chapter of the Gospel of St. John. 
"When that was done he cast a rapid glance around 
his audience, and commenced a thrilling dissertation 
on the love of God to man. I glanced at Mr. Eay. 
A flush of triumph was on his face, as if the danger 
was past now, and ElUot could not fail. Charles had 
evidently forgotten his pity, and was looking as impu- 
dent as he dared, while a general feeling of. relief 
seemed to pervade the congregation. 

But suddenly there w^as a pause ; the speaker hes- 
itated ; he was embarrassed ; he passed his hand 
hastily across his high, white forehead, now wet 
with perspiration, and brushed back the damp 
masses of hair which had fallen over it; he trem- 
bled in every limb ; his father half rose from his 
seat, and more than one expected to see him fall 



22 THE YOUNG PREACHER. 

the next moment. But he did not. He was soon 
calm again, iDut his face was so white and corpse- 
like, it was almost fearful to look at. He tasted a 
few drops from the glass of water that was handed to 
him ; then folding his hands over his breast, he turned 
to his audience, and said : 

" Fathers in the Church, it might better become a 
youth like me to sit and learn lessons of wisdom from 
your lips, than thus to stand before you in the attitude 
of a teacher; but it is not to teach you that I am 
here. I was a child when you were men. I have 
grown to manhood among you, my character has 
been formed by the influence of your examples, and 
those examples have taught me to look forward to 
this period as to the commencement of a career of 
usefulness. You know with what misgivings, with 
what doubt, and trembling, and prayers, I ventured to 
accept this sacred calling. I saw how broad was the 
field, and how many laborers were already engaged 
therein, but I thought that even an humble gleaner 
like myself, if I had courage to venture in, might be 
rewarded with a sheaf. It is not to teach those who 
have long been laboring that I have come in, but to 
learn of them. 

" Fathers in the Church, teach me by your examples 
yet, for I am ignorant ; bear with me and sustain me 
by your prayers, for I am weak. 

" Mothers in Israel ! mothers of sons born to 



THE YOUNG PREACHEK. 23 

inherit immortality ! think of the responsibilities that 
rest upon you ; think of the honors that crown you ! 
Mothers ! could you realize the influence you exert ; 
could you know the blessings invoked upon your 
heads by pious children; could you see how every 
little act of tenderness is treasured up by your child, 
careless and thoughtless as he may seem ; could you 
know the deep gratitude that fills his heart when he 
sees that you share in his sorrows, pity the weak- 
nesses of his nature, and by your unfailing love 
strengthen him in the path of virtue ; could you feel 
and know all this, where is the mother, the Christian 
mother, in this assembly, who would not pity and 
forgive not only the weaknesses of 'her own child, but 
also of one who, born and brought up among you, 
has learned to love you, to look to you for encourage- 
ment in every good word and work! My mother! 
were she other than she is, what would her child 
have been ? And she is not here among you now ! 
Shall I tell you where she is? There is no need of 
that. I see by your quivering lips and tearful eyes 
you know she is praying for her child ! join your 
prayers with hers !" 

Here Elliot stood for a moment, pale, speechless, 
and motionless. Mothers were weeping, j'-ounger and 
more blooming cheeks were wet with tears, men 
bowed their heads as if in prayer, and good old Mr. 
Kay made no effort now to keep back the moistui'e 



24 THE YOUNG PREACHER. 

gathering beneath his eyelids. The great tears 
chased each other over his round cheeks and fell 
•upon his hands as they lay helplessly in his lap. My 
eyes were too dim to see whether his thumbs were in 
motion or not. I looked toward Charles, but his face 
was not to be seen; he was bending forward with his 
head resting on the back of the seat before him. 

Elliot resumed : " My dear young friends, sharers 
of my childish sports, companions of my boyhood, my 
associates in riper years, thus far through life have 
we journeyed hand in hand, and shall we be parted 
now ? I am not standing here to prove myself your 
superior. O, no; far from it. You know me too 
well. You know my faults, you know the follies of 
my youth ; but you know, too, that we have all taken 
upon ourselves the same solemn vows to forsake our 
sins and to seek salvation by turning to the Lord. In 
our worldly enjoyments we have always tried to height- 
en each other's pleasures by sharing them together. 
Ought we not to do so in religion? Let me not 
seem to you as one who stands apart, saying, 'I am 
liolier than thou.' It is not pride nor vanity that has 
led me to this. Look at me, and see if you can find in 
your hearts one spark of envy now. Do you not feel 
pity for me rather? pity for the weakness I have shown ; 
pity for that sensitiveness that was near overwhelm- 
ing me with confusion and shame when I met your 
cold and curious glances. I need your prayers and 



THE YOUNG PREACHEK. 25 

encouraging smiles. I am full of fears, fears for my- 
self and for the honor of the cause I would advocate. 
Shall I fail when it is in your power to give me 
courage and confidence? No; I read it in your 
answering looks of love. God will bless you. Play- 
mates of my boyhood ! it was at this altar that we 
first confessed the Saviour ! Shall we ever dishonor 
that confession, or w^orship at a shrine less holy? 
Sistei-s in Jesus! your tears of penitence and joy 
were mingled with ours. Together we commenced 
the Christian life, together let us strive to enter 
upon the blissful rewards of eternity ! Fathers and 
mothers! remember the children of your love. 
Where you cannot approve and praise, it is yours to 
pity and forgive. " 

Elliot sat down and bowed his head upon his 
hands. The white-haired patriarch arose and offered 
a short, tremulous prayer. Then, as before, the 
whole congregation rose and sung: that glorious 

hymn, 

" When all thy mercies, O my God," 

seemed to break spontaneously from every tongue. 
Elliot stood up with the rest and joined in singing, 
but his voice wavered in the second stanza, and 
when they came to the third he sat down, and I 
could see that he was convulsed with weeping. 
There were tremulous voices besides his, and many 
cheeks wet with tears. 



26 THE YOUNG PKEACHER. 

Charles had not once raised his head since Elli- 
ot's allusion to their mother; but the father stood 
erect, apparently unconscious that another person 
was in the house. His hands hung listlessly at his 
sides, and he was singing at the top of his stento- 
rian voice. 

After the benediction was pronounced, Elliot 
stepped without the railing, and each one, while 
passing by, shook the young preacher's hand, and 
bade him God speed. 

Charles was nowhere to be seen after the dis- 
mission. I rode home with Mr. Bay, and Elliot 
followed some distance behind with his uncle. 

Mrs. Kay rose hastily from her chair as I went 
in. She was looking very pale, but without noti- 
cing me, she went to the book-case, took down a 
large volume, and was returning with it to her seat, 
when her husband entered. 

" Why, Mary !" he exclaimed, " you are not 
going to study surveying to-day, are you? God 
bless our boy! He did nobly! You needn't be 
ashamed of him ; let me put this book in the library ; 
there's your Bible, dear, on the stand." 

He said this very tenderly, and replacing the 
book she had mistaken for her Bible, he led her 
gently back to her chair. 

She clasped her hands together, and I thought 
she was fainting; but a glance in the direction she 



THE YOUNG PREACHER. 27 

was looking showed me that Elliot had come. I 
hastened to my own room, for I would not intrude 
myself as a witness to such a meeting. 

An hour afterward I passed the door of Elliot's 
room; it was open, and he stood by it, leaning his 
head against the casement. He looked exhausted 
and pale, but very happy. He reached out his 
hand to me, and as I took it I said : 

" Your recompense was sure : has not the gleaner 
already been rewarded with a sheaf?" 

" Yes, Sister A.," he replied, '' and a richer one 
than he deserved. Charles is in tears in his moth- 
er's room ; but give her the praise ; I owe everything 
to my mother." 



SELF-DISPARACIEMENT; 



ELDER BLUNT AND SISTER SCRUB, 



SELF-DISPARAGEMENT; 

OR, 

ELDER BLUNT AND SISTER SCRUB. 



In one of the Eastern states there is a settlement 
which has long been celebrated as a stronghold of 
Methodism. It is an out-of-the-way neighborhood, 
yet no place in the whole country is better known, or 
more highly esteemed. In the center of the settle- 
ment, just where two roads cut each other at right 
angles, making a " four corners," is the school-house, 
painted red, and long familiar as the only place of 
public worship in the settlement. The people are 
well off now, and have built a nice and commodious 
Church, on the opposite corner. A few rods up the 
road from the school-house Lived Squire Scrub. You 
could tell, at first sight, that the " Squire" was " well 
to do" in this world, for everything about him denot- 
ed it. There was his picket fence all around his 
garden painted red, and the top tipped with white ; 
there was his house, a modest one story and a half, 
with a leaning to in the rear, painted white all over; 



32 SELF-DISPARAGEMENT. 

there was the barn, a large, well-filled barn it was ; 
there was the farm, a choice lot of one hundred acres, 
well cultivated ; and besides all this, there were the 
honors and emoluments of the important office of 
justice of the peace. The "Squire" was, of course, a 
man of note in his town. He had been a justice 
several terms in succession. He was a trustee of 
the school district, and he was both class-leader and 
steward in the Methodist Church. I have no doubt 
he would, have received other honors at the hands of 
his fellow-townsmen and brethren, had he been 
eligible. Still he was a quiet, unassuming man, and 
I verily believe he thought more of his religion than 
of all his ecclesiastical and civil honors. His house 
was the itinerant's home ; and a right sweet, pleasant 
home it would have been but for a certain unfortu- 
nate weakness of the every other way excellent Sister 
Scrub. The weakness I allude to was, or at least it 
was suspected to be, the love of praise. E^ow the 
good sister was really worthy of high praise, and she 
often received it ; but she had a way of disparaging 
herself and her performances, which some people 
thought was intended to invite praise. No house- 
wife kept her floors looking so clean and her walls 
so well whitewashed as she. Every board was 
scrubbed and scoured till further scrubbing and 
scouring would have been labor wasted. Is"o one 
could look on her white ash floor, and not admire 



SELF-DISPAKAGEMENT. 33 

the polish her industry gave it. The "Squire" was 
a good provider, and Sister Scrub was an excellent 
cook ; and so their table groaned under a burden of 
good things on all occasions when good cheer was 
demanded. And yet you could never enter the 
nouse and sit half an hour without being reminded 
that "Husband held court yesterday, and she 
couldn't keep the house decent." If you sat down 
to eat with them she was sorry she " hadn't anything 
fit to eat." She had been scrubbing, or washing, or 
ironing, or she had been half sick, and she hadn't 
got such and such things, that she ought to have. 
Nor did it matter how bountiful or how well pre- 
pared the repast really was, there was always some- 
thing deficient, the want of which furnished a text 
for a disparaging discourse on the occasion. I re- 
member once, that we sat down to a table that a 
king might have been happy to enjoy. There was 
the light snow-white bread, there were the potatoes 
reeking in butter, there were the chickens swimming 
in gravy, there were the onions and the turnips, and 
I was sure Sister Scrub had gratified her ambition 
once. We sat down, and a blessing was asked. In- 
stantly the good sister began: she was afraid her 
coffee was too much burned, or that the water had 
been smoked, or that she hadn't roasted the chicken 
enough. There ought to have been some salad, and 
it was too bad that there was nothing nice to oflfer us. 



34 SELF-DISPARAGEMENT. 

We, of course, endured these unjustifiable apologies 
as well as we could, simply remarking that every- 
thing was really nice, and proving by our acts that 
the repast was tempting to our appetites. 

I will now introduce another actor to the reader. 
It is Elder Blunt, the circuit preacher. Elder Blunt 
was a good man. His religion was of the most gen- 
uine, experimental kind. He was a very plain man. 
He, like Mr. Wesley, would no more dare preach a 
Jlne sermon than wear a fine coat. He was celebrated 
for his common-sense way of exhibiting the principles 
of religion. He would speak just what he thought, 
and as he felt. He somehow got the name of being 
an eccentric preacher, as every man, I believe, does, 
who never prevaricates and always acts and speaks as 
he thinks. Somehow or other. Elder Blunt had heard 
of Sister Scrub, and of that infirmity of hers, and he 
resolved to cure her. On his first round he stopped 
at " Squire Scrub's," as all other itinerants had done 
before him. John, the young man, took the elder's 
horse and put him in the stable, and the preacher 
entered the house. He was shown into the best room, 
and soon felt very much at home. He expected to 
hear something in due time disparaging the domestic 
arrangements, but he heard it sooner than he expected. 
This time, if Sister Scrub could be credited, her house 
was all upside down ; it wasn't fit to stay in, and she 
was sadly mortified to be caught in such a plight. 



SELF-DISPARAGEMENT. 35 

The elder looked all around the room, as if to observe 
the terrible disorder, but he said not a word. By and 
by the dinner was ready, and the elder sat down with 
the family to a well-spread table. Here, again. Sister 
Scrub found everything faulty ; the coffee wasn't fit 
to drink, and she hadn't anything fit to eat. The 
elder lifted his dark eye to her face ; for a moment he 
seemed to penetrate her very soul with his austere 
gaze ; then slowly rising from the table he said, "Broth- 
er Scrub, I want my horse immediately ; I must leave." 

" Wliy, Brother Blunt, what is the matter ?" 

"Matter? Why, sir, your house isn't fit to stay in, 
and you haven't anything fit to eat or drink, and I 
won't stay." 

Both the " Squire " and his lady were confounded. 
This was a piece of eccentricity entirely unlooked for. 
Tliey were stupefied. But the elder was gone. He 
wouldn't stay in a house not fit to stay in, and where 
there wasn't anything fit to eat and drink. 

Poor Sister Scrub ! She wept like a child at her 
folly. She " knew it would be all over town," she 
said, "and everybody would be laughing at her." 
And then, how should she meet the blunt, honest 
elder again ? " She hadn't meant anything by what 
she had said." Ah ! she never thought how wicked 
it was to say so wuiicK that didn't mean anything. 

Tlie upshot of the whole matter was, that Sister 

Scrub " saw herself as others saw her." She ceased 

3 



d6 SELF-DISPARAGEMENT. 

making apologies, and became a wiser and better 
Christian. Elder Blunt always puts up tliere, always 
finds everything as it should be, and with all his 
eccentricities, is thought by the family the most 
agreeable, as he is acknowledged by everybody to be 
the most consistent of men. 



THE 



ELEVENTH COMMAIDIEIT. 



By T. S. ARTHUR 



THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 



A NEW presiding elder, Mr. IST., was expected in 
— District ; and as the ministers all stopped with 



Brother W. and his wife, every preparation was 
made to give him a cordial reception. The honest 
couple thought that religion, in part, consisted in 
making some parade; and therefore the parlor was 
put in order, a nice fire was made, and the kitchen 
replenished with cakes, chickens, and every delicacy, 
preparatory to cooking. 

While Mr. "W". was out at his wood-pile, a plain- 
looking, coarsely-dressed, but quiet-like pedestrian 
came along, and inquired the distance to the next 
town. He was told that it was three miles. Being 
very cold, he asked permission to enter and warm 
himself. Assent was given very grudgingly, and 
both went into the kitchen. The wife looked dag- 
gers at this untimely intrusion, for the stranger had 
on cow-hide boots, an old hat, and a thread-bare, 
but neatly patched, coat. At length she gave him a 



40 THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 

chair beside the Dutch oven which was baking nice 
cakes for the presiding elder, who was momentarily 
expected, and who was to preach the next day at the 
church a mile or two beyond. 

The stranger, after warming himself, prepared to 
leave ; but the weather became more inclement, and 
as his appetite was roused by the viands about the 
fire, he asked for some little refreshment ere he set 
out on a cold walk to the town beyond. Mrs. "W. 
was displeased, but on consultation with her husband, 
some cold bacon and bread were set on an old table, 
and he was then somewhat gruffly told to eat.^ It 
was growing dark, and hints were thrown out that 
the stranger had better depart, as it was three long 
miles to town. The wife grew petulant as the new 
preacher did not arrive, and her husband sat whistling 
the air of " Auld Lang Syne," while he thought of the 
words of the hymn, 

"When I can read my title clear," 

and felt as if he could order the stranger off without 
any further ado. 

The homely meal was at last concluded ; the man 
thanked them kindly for the hospitality he had re- 
ceived, and opened the door to go. But it was quite 
dark, and clouds denoting a storm filled the heavens. 
" You say it is full three miles to D. ?" 
" I do," said Mr. W., coldly ; " I said so when you 



THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 41 

first stopped, and you ought to have pushed on, like 
a prudent man. You could have reached there before 
it was quite dark." 

"But I was cold and hungry, and might have 
fainted by the way." 

The manner of saying this touched the farmer's 
feelings a little. 

" You have warmed me and fed me, for which I 
am thankful. Will you not bestow another act of 
kindness upon one in a strange place, and who, if 
he goes out in the darkness, may lose himself and 
perish in the cold ?" 

The peculiar form in which this request was made, 
and the tone in which it was uttered, put it out of 
the power of the farmer to say no. 

" Go in there and sit down," he answered, pointing 
to the kitchen, " and I will see my wife, and hear 
what she says," 

And Mr, W, went into the parlor, where the supper 
table stood, covered with a snow-white cloth, and 
displaying his wife's set of blue-sprigged china, that 
was only brought out on special occasions. 

The tall mold candles were burning thereon, and 
on the hearth blazed a cheerful fire. 

" Hasn't that old fellow gone yet?" asked Mrs. W. 
She heard his voice as he returned from the door. 

" ISTo ; and what do you suppose ? He wants us to 
let him stay all nightl" 



42 THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 

" Indeed, we'll do no such thing ! We can't have 
the likes of him in the house now. Where could he 
sleep?" 

" 'Not in the best room, even if Mr. N. should not 
come." 

"JSTo, indeed!" 

"But really I don't see, Jane, how we can turn 
him out of doors. He doesn't look like a very strong 
man, and it's dark and cold, and full three miles 
to D." 

" It's too much. He ought to have gone on while 
he had daylight, and not lingered here as he did till 
it got dark." 

" We can't turn him out of doors, Jane, and it's 
no use to think of it. He'll have to stay, somehow." 

" But what can we do with him ?" 

" He seems like a decent man at least, and doesn't 
look as if he had anything bad about him. We 
might make him a bed on the floor somewhere." 

" I wish he had been at Guinea before he came 
here !" said Mrs. W., fretfully. The disappointment 
and conviction that Mr. N. would not arrive, occa- 
sioned her to feel very unpleasant ; and the intrusion 
of so unwelcome a visitor as the stranger completely 
unhinged her mind. 

" O, well," replied her husband, in a soothing 
voice, " never mind. We must make the best of it. 
He came to us tired and hungry, and we warmed 



THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 43 

and fed him. He now asks shelter for the night, and 
we must not refuse him, nor grant his request in a 
complaining or reluctant spirit. You know what the 
Bible says about entertaining angels unawares." 

" Angels ! did you ever see an angel look like 
him ?" 

" Having never seen an angel," said the farmer, 
smiling, " I am unable to speak as to their appear- 
ance." 

This had the effect to call an answering smile to 
the face of Mrs. "W., and a better feeling to her heart. 
It was finally agreed between them, that the man, 
as he seemed like a decent kind of person, should 
be permitted to occupy the minister's room, if that 
individual did not arrive, an event to which they both 
looked with but small expectancy. If he did come, 
why the man would have to put up with poorer 
accommodations. 

When Mr. W. returned to the kitchen, where the 
stranger had seated himself before the fire, he in- 
formed him that they had decided to let him stay all 
night. The man expressed in a few words his grate- 
ful sense of their kindness, and then became silent 
and thoughtful. Soon after, the farmer's wife, giving 
up all hope of Mr. l^.'s arrival, had supper taken 
up, which consisted of coffee, warm short-cake, and 
broiled chickens. After all was on the table, a short 
conference was held as to whether it would not do to 



44 THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 

invite the stranger to take supper. It was true they 
had given him as much bread and bacon as he could 
eat, but then, as long as he was going to stay all 
night, it looked too inhospitable to sit down to the 
table and not to ask him to join them. So making a 
virtue of necessity, he was kindly asked to come to 
supper ; an invitation which he did not decline. 
Grace was said over the meal by Mr. "W., and the 
coffee poured out, the bread helped, and the meat 
carved. 

There was a fine little boy six years old at the 
table, who had been brightened up, and dressed in 
his best, in order to grace the minister's reception. 
Charles was full of talk, and the parents felt a mutual 
pride in showing him off, even before their humble 
guest, who noticed him particularly, though he had 
not much to say. 

" Come, Charley," said Mr. W., after the meal was 
over, and he sat leaning back in his chair, '''can't 
you repeat the pretty hymn mamma taught you last 
Sunday?" 

Charley started off without further invitation, and 
repeated very accurately two or three vei'ses of a 
new camp-meeting hymn, that was just then very 
popular. 

"Now let us hear you say the commandments, 
Charley," spoke up the mother, well pleased at her 
child's performance. 



THE ELEVEKTH COMMANDMENT. 45 

And Charley repeated them with the aid of a little 
prompting. 

" How many commandments are there ?" asked 
the father. 

The child hesitated, and then, looking up at the 
stranger, near whom he sat, said, innocently : 

" How many are there ?" 

The man thought for some moments, and said, as 
if in doubt : 

" Eleven, are there not ?" 

" Eleven !" ejaculated Mrs. W. in great surprise. 

"Eleven!" said her husband, with more rebuke 
than astonishment in his voice. " Is it possible, sir, 
that you do not know how many commandments 
there are! How many are there, Charley? Come, 
tell me ; you know, of course." 

"Ten," replied the child. 

"Right, my son," returned Mr. W., looking with a 
smile of approval on the child. "Right! There 
isn't a child of his age in ten miles who can't tell you 
there are ten commandments. Did you ever read 
the Bible, sir ?" addressing the sti-anger. 

" When I was a little boy I used to read it some- 
times. But I am sure I thought there were eleven 
commandments. Are you not mistaken about there 
being only ten ?" 

Sister W. lifted her hands in unfeigned astonish- 
ment, and exclaimed : 



46 THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 

" Could any one believe it ? Such ignorance of the 
Bible !" 

Mr. "W. did not reply, but rose, and going to one 
corner of the room where the good book lay upon 
the small stand, he put it on the table before him, 
and opened at that portion in which the command- 
ments are recorded. 

"There!" he said, placing his finger upon the 
proof of the stranger's error. " There ! look for your- 
self." 

The stranger came around from his side of the table 
and looked over Mr. W.'s shoulder. 

"There! ten, d'ye see?" 

"Yes, it does say ten," replied the man; "and yet 
it seems to me there are eleven. I'm sure I have 
always thought so." 

"Doesn't it say ten here?" inquired Mr. W., with 
marked impatience in his voice. 

" It does, certainly." 

"Well, what more do you want? Can't you be- 
lieve the Bible?" 

" O, yes, I believe the Bible ; and yet, it strikes 
me somehow, that there must be eleven command- 
ments. Hasn't one been added somewhere else ?" 

Eow this was too much for Brother and Sister "W". 
to hear. Such ignorance of sacred matters they felt 
to be unpardonable. A long lecture followed, in 
which the man was scolded, admonished, and threat- 



THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 47 

ened with Divine indignation. At its close he mod- 
estly asked if he might not have the Bible to read 
for an hour or two before retiring for the night. 
Tliis request was granted with more pleasure than 
any of the preceding ones. 

Shortly after supper the man was conducted to the 
little square room, accompanied by the Bible. Be- 
fore leaving him alone, Mr. W. felt it to be his duty 
to exhort him to spiritual things, and he did so most 
earnestly for ten or fifteen minutes. But he could 
not see that his words made much impression, and 
he finally left his guest, lamenting his obduracy and 
ignorance. 

In the morning he came down, and meeting Mr. 
W., asked him if he would be so kind as to lend him 
a razor, that he might remove his beard, which did 
not give his face a very attractive aspect. His re- 
quest was complied with. 

" We will have prayers in about ten minutes," said 
Mr. W., as he handed him the razor and shaving-box. 

The man appeared, and behaved with due pro- 
priety at family worship. After breakfast he 
thanked the farmer and his wife for their hospital- 
ity, and departing, went on his journey. 

Ten o'clock came, but Mr. IS', had not arrived. 
So Ml', and Mrs. "W. started for the meeting-house, 
not doubting that they would find him there. But 
they were disappointed. A goodly number of peo- 



48 THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 

pie were inside the meeting-honse, and a goodly 
number outside, but the minister had not arrived. 

" Where is Mr. N. ?" inquired a dozen voices, as a 
little crowd gathered around the farmer. 

"He hasn't come yet. Something has detained 
him. But I still look for him ; indeed, I fully expect- 
ed to find him here." 

The day was cold, and Mr. W., after becoming 
thoroughly chilled, concluded to go in and keep a 
good look-out for the minister from the window near 
which he usually sat. Others, from the same cause, 
followed his example, and the little meeting-house 
was soon filled, and one after another came dropping 
in. The farmer, who turned toward the door each 
time it was opened, was a little surprised to see his 
guest of the previous night enter, and come slowly 
down the aisle, looking from side to side, as if search- 
ing for a vacant seat, very few of which were now 
left. Still advancing, he finally got within the little 
inclosed altar, and ascending to the pulpit, took oif 
his old gray overcoat and sat down. 

By this time Mr. W. was at his side, and had his 
hand upon his arm. 

" You musn't sit here. Come down, and I will 
show you a seat," he said, in an excited tone. 

"Thank you," replied the man in a composed 
voice. "It is very comfortable here." And the 
man remained immovable. 



THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 49 

Mr. W. feeling embarrassed, weut down, intending 
to get a brother " official " to assist him in making a 
forcible ejection of the man from the place he was 
desecrating. Immediatel}^ upon his doing so, however, 
the man rose, and standing up at the desk, opened 
the hymn book. His voice thrilled to the finger ends 
of Brother W., as in a distinct and impressive manner 
he gave out the hymn beginning : 

"Help us to help each other, Lord, 
Each other's cross to bear ; 
Let each his friendly aid afford, 
And feel a brother's care." 

The congregation rose after the stranger had read 
the entire hymn, and had repeated the first two lines 
for them to sing. Brother W. usually started the 
tunes. He tried this time, but went off on a long 
meter tune. Discovering his mistake at the second 
word, he balked and tried it again, but now he stum- 
bled on short meter. A musical brother here came 
to his aid, and led of with a tune that suited the 
measure in which the hymn was written. 

After singing, the congi-egation kneeled, and the 
minister, for no one doubted his real character, 
addressed the throne of grace with much fervor and 
eloquence. The reading of a chapter in the Bible 
succeeded. Then there was a deep pause throughout 
the room in anticipation of the text, which the 
preacher prepared to announce. 



50 THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 

Brother W. looked pale, and his hands and knees 
trembled. Sister "W.'s face was like crimson, and her 
heart was beating so loud that she wondered whether 
the sound was not heard by the sister who sat beside 
her. There was a breathless silence. The dropping 
of a pin might almost have been heard. Tlien the 
fine, emphatic tones of the preacher filled the 
crowded room. 

"A new commandment I give unto you^ That ye 
love one another^ 

Brother W. had bent forward to listen, but now he 
sank back in his seat. This was the Eleventh com- 
mandment. 

The sermon was deep, searching, yet affectionate 
and impressive. The preacher uttered nothing that 
could in the least wound the brother and sister of 
whose hospitality he had partaken, but he said much 
that smote upon their hearts, and made them pain- 
fully conscious that they had not shown as much 
kindness to the stranger as he had been entitled to 
receive on the broad principle of humanity. But 
they suffered most from mortification of feeling. To 
think that they should have treated the presiding 
elder of the district after such a fashion was deeply 
humiliating; and the idea of the whole affair getting 
abroad, interfered sadly with their devotional feel- 
ings throughout the whole period of service. 

At last the sermon was over, the ordinance admin- 



THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 51 

istered, and the betediction pronounced. Brother 
W. did not know what it was best for him to do. He 
never was more at a loss in his life. Then Mr. N. 
descended from the pulpit, but he did not step 
forward to meet him. How could he do that ? Oth- 
ers gathered around and shook hands with him, but 
still he hngered and held back. 

"Where is Brother W.?" he at length heard asked. 
It was the voice of the minister. 

" Hjere he is," said one or two, opening the way to 
where the farmer stood. 

The preacher advanced, and catching his hand, 
said: 

" How do you do, Brother "W. ? I am glad to see 
you. And where is Sister W. ?" 

Sister W. was brought forward, and the preacher 
shook hands with them heartily, while his face was 
lit up with smiles. 

" I believe I am to find a home with you," he said, 
as if it was settled. 

Before the still embarrassed brother and sister 
could reply, some one asked : 

"How came you to be detained so late? You 
were expected last night. And where is Brother E.?" 

" Brother E. is sick," replied Mr. 'N., " and I had 
to come alone. Five miles from this my horse gave 
out, and I had to come the rest of the way on foot. 
But I became so cold and weary that I found it 



52 THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENl- 

necessary to ask a farmer not €ar from here to give 
me a night's lodging, which he was kind enough to 
do. I thought I was still three miles off, but it hap- 
pened that I was much nearer my journey's end than 
I supposed." 

This explanation was satisfactory to all parties, and 
in due time the congregation dispersed, and the 
presiding elder went home with Brother and Sister W. 
One thing is certain, however, the story never got 
out for some years after the worthy brother and sister 
had passed from their labors, and it was then related 
by Ml'. K. himself, who was rather eccentric in his 
character, and, like numbers of his ministerial 
brethren, fond of a joke, and given to relating good 
stories. 



THE 



TILLAGE SLANDER 



By WILLIAM COMSTOCK 



THE VILLAGE SLANDER. 



"When Mr. Blasset, a worthy old inhabitant of our 
village, was going to mill, some two or three weeks 
ago, he met Mr. Samuel Gore, and after exchanging 
the customary salutations with each other, the two 
gentlemen held a short consultation. 

" Do tell me, neighbor Gore, what sort of a man is 
that Windham, who has lately taken a house near 
your 

" I don't like to speak ill of my neighbors," replied 
Gore, " but I am afraid he is not such a man as you 
could approve or esteem." 

"Indeed! why so?" 

" I fear he is a man of very high temper ; a very 
dangerous man, in fact," said the other. 

" That is bad, very bad," cried Blasset, shaking his 
head. "The worst is his own, for I had intended to 
offer him a prime situation, and a profitable one ; but 
if he is a man of violent temper he would not answer 
our purpose. It is a pity, but it cannot be helped." 



56 THE VILLAGE SLANDER. 

Mr. Blasset rode on, and Mr. Gore also went about 
his business. 

Two days afterward, there was a party of young 
people at Squire Blackwell's house, and during the 
evening a couple of young ladies present discoursed 
as follows : 

" Have you seen Miss James lately ?" 

" IS'o, I have not. I understand she is very mel- 
ancholy." 

" That is not strange. It was cruel in her parents 
to break up the match." 

" Not altogether cruel, when everything is consid- 
ered. I am certain that if I were in their situation, 
I should not want to marry a daughter of mine to 
such a man as Mr. "Windham." 

" But perhaps it is not so bad as they have been 
led to suppose." 

" Yet, only think of it ! To attack a poor old man 
in that way ! Keally, I must defend the conduct of 
Mr. and Mrs. James. I think they would have 
proved wanting in their conduct to their daughter, 
if they had permitted the marriage to take place." 

" But will he not sue for a breach of promise ?" 

" That admits not of a doubt. A man of so ma- 
licious and fiery a disposition will leave no stone un- 
turned. He will make trouble for them if he can." 

" Well, it is a sad affair. How much mischief is 
done in this world, and how many innocent persons 



THE VILLAGE SLANDER. 57 

ai'e made to sufler by the ungovernable passions of 
an individual ?" 

On the day after the above conversation had taken 
place, there was a number of persons gathered to- 
gether in the village tavern, talking politics, dis- 
coursing about the news of the day, and playing at 
checkei-s. The post-office was kept at the tavern, 
and occasionally some person w«s obliged to run the 
gauntlet through clouds of tobacco smoke, projecting 
legs, and obtrusive elbows, before he could win his 
way to the bar, and make the necessary inquiry. 
Not much notice was taken, however, of those appli- 
cants, until a young man of modest bearing, and ap- 
parently with some hesitation, entered the room, and 
pressed through the crowd for the purpose of obtain- 
ing a letter. All eyes were immediately turned 
upon him, and his countenance betrayed considera- 
ble anxiet}^ and agitation, when he overheard the 
remarks which were obviously intended for his ear. 

After leaving the tavern this young man passed 
quickly up the main road for about the distance of a 
quarter of a mile, when he turned off into a path 
leading into a piece of woods, and then he slackened 
his pace. He went slowly forward, muttering to 
himself, while his features w^orked with strong emo- 
tion, and an occasional tear glistened in his eyes. 
When he had reached the middle of the wood he 
became sensible that some person was approaching 



68 THE VILLAGE SLANDER. 

him from the opposite direction. He would fain 
have turned aside, but it was too late, and suddenly 
the minister of the village church stood before him. 

" Good day, Mr. Windham," was the sudden ad- 
dress of that gentleman; "I have been to your house, 
but you were not at home. I have desired to see 
you for several days. 'Nslj, be not dismayed, I come 
on a friendly errand. I have heard of your misfor- 
tunes, and desire to alleviate, if not wholly remove 
them. There seems to be a strong prejudice against 
you in this place, and I suspect that it is ill-founded." 

" Indeed it is," replied Windham ; " I know not 
what it means. I have some enemy here who has 
crossed me at every turn. Strange stories are re- 
ported concerning me, and I know not from what 
source they have taken their rise. Even now I went 
to the post-office for a letter ; every one stared at 
me as if I had been the great giraffe from Africa, 
and when they whispered to one another, I could 
hear them say, ' He has the gallows written on his 
forehead !' ' What a hang-dog countenance !' ' See 
how his eyes glare !' I am certain I do not know 
what it means." 

"I believe you," said the minister, taking his 
hand, " and I am persuaded that the people of this 
village labor under some mistake respecting you. 
It is said that you are hasty and passionate, and 
I understand it was on that score the parents of — " 



THE VILLAGE SLANDER. 6§ 

Perceiving Windham becoming much agitated, the 
speaker paused. He resumed in a few moments : 

" ISi matter. I wish to put you in a way to re- 
move the imputations which have been cast upon 
you. If you are innocent you have nothing to fear. 
Fix upon some one person who has evinced dislike 
toward you. Go to him in a frank and manly way. 
See him alone, and persuade him to give you the 
name of the individual from whom he derived his 
information respecting you. Then go to the individ- 
ual named, and require the authority by which he 
has spoken ill of you. When the foundation of these 
reports is once laid bare, you may annihilate it with 
a single breath." 

"You impose upon me an arduous and painful 
task," replied the young man. 

"There is but one right way to do anything," 
said the minister. "It is the part of virtue to 
show its head. Yice skulks in dens and caves. 
You must put on the armor of faith, and believe 
that victory, sooner or later, crowns the right. 
Confidence in the power of justice and truth, gives 
moral courage. I beg that you will play the man 
in this matter." 

Windham seemed to catch the spirit of his advi- 
ser, and promised to follow his directions. He 
bade the Rev. Mr. Rogers good-by, and walked 
directly back to the tavern. He stood at the door 



60 THE VILLAGE SLANDER. 

of the bar-room and looked in. A general sneer 
was the consequence. There were frowns and mut- 
terings, whisperings and threatening gestures. For 
a moment "Windham's heart misgave him. In an- 
other instant he was at the side of one of his 
persecutors. "Mr. Jones, I desire to speak to you 
in private," said he. ]^ow Mr. Jones was a pro- 
fessor of religion, and a member of the Church; 
yet he had suffered himself to become violently 
prejudiced against the young man. This sudden 
challenge to a personal interview was as unexpected 
to him as to the other individuals present. He 
blushed, and looked about him as if doubtful what 
course to take. He saw that the eyes of all pres- 
ent were upon him, and he thought best to gr^nt 
the request of the youth. They walked out together 
and stood upon the green in front of the church. 

"Mr. Jones," said Windham, "^^ou appear to 
have heard some slanderous report respecting me. 
"Will you be so kind as to give the name of my 
traducer ?" 

"Well, sir," said the other, "you have some 
assurance, seeing that I am a stranger to you. 
What if I should say that you had no right to 
demand such a thing of me? It's not my way to 
make trouble between other folks. I've heard 
enough to convince me that you ought not to be 
tolerated in this town." 



THE VILLAGE SLANDER. 61' 

"What was the story that you heard, sir?" 

"What did I hear? Ask your own conscience. 
Your countenance shows it now. A person that 
wasn't guilty would not tremble and turn pale as 
you do. I suppose you will deny that you attempt- 
ed your uncle's life?" 

"I, sir! I don't understand you. Here is some 
mistake. I beg you, I beseech you, to give me the 
name of the person who told you so." 

" In order that you may go and attempt his life 
too, I suppose. ISTo, no, young man; you don't 
carry on such business in this village, I warrant you." 

"Then you will not give the name of your in- 
former ?" 

"I tell you I will not, for everybody knows." 
Here Mr. Jones suddenly paused, and betrayed 
some emotion. Windham followed the direction 
of his eyes, and turning his head, saw Mr. Kogers 
looking over his shoulder upon the countenance of 
Jones, with a steady but stern aspect. 

" Ahem ! this young man has been telling me," 
commenced Mr. Jones. 

"I beg you will continue your conversation with 
A^'m," said Mr. Rogers. "As I am privy to the 
subject of your discourse, I suppose you can have 
no objection to my presence." 

" Certainly not, Mr. Rogers," returned the other. 
"He is a very dangerous young man, as you have 



62 THE VILLAGE SLANDEK. 

heard, no doubt. He wants me to give the name 
of the person who told me his true character. But 
that would make mischief, jou know." 

" Have you reported the story to any other indi- 
vidual ?" inquired the minister. 

"I can't deny but what I have," answered the 
other. 

"Were you not afraid that you should make 
mischief by so doing ?" asked Mr. Kogers. " Surely 
a man who evinces so much tenderness of con- 
science, ought to be careful how he gives currency 
to idle rumors." 

"Idle rumors, sir! Would Mr. Gore report a 
falsehood?" 

"I will see Mr. Gore immediately," said the 
youth with some eagerness. 

"Do so," said the minister, as he turned to go 
home, and left Mr. Jones alone upon the green, in 
a state of bewilderment. 

Windham hastened to the farm-house, and found 
Mr. Gore smoking his pipe in the corner of his 
antiquated fire-place. 

" Good- day, sir," said the young man. 

Gore was in no haste to reply to the unexpected 
salutation; but suffering the smoke to clear away 
from before his vision, and half shutting his eyes, 
he peered earnestly through his knitted brows, as 
if doubting the identity of his visitor. 



THE VILLAGE SLANDER. 63 

The youth felt as if he had no time to lose. 

"Sir," said he, "I have been shunned by my 
acquaintances, denied admittance to the house of 
Mr. James, and stared at like a wild beast in a 
menagerie, for several days past." 

" For your bad conduct — O, young man." 

" No, sir ; but because you have reported that I 
tried to kill my uncle." 

"I did not s^y exactly so," returned Mr. Gore. 
"But I heard that you made a murderous assault 
on your uncle with an ax." 

"Who said so?" 

"I heard it from Mr. Smith, and he says he will 
not eat his own words." 

"Thank you, sir!" cried Windham; and he ran 
to the store kept by Mr. Smith. 

" Good afternoon, Mr. Smith," said he, hastily. 

"Well, sir," returned Smith, coldly. 

"Did you report that I attacked my uncle with 
an ax?" said the young man. 

" Certainly I did," responded the store-keeper. 
" Did you not confess the crime to me yourself?" 

" Never !" exclaimed Windham. 

"What!" cried Smith; "did I not meet you in 
the road the other day, with a staif in your hand, 
and did I not ask you how you did, and — " 

"I remember it all; how strange!" exclaimed 
Windham. "Now, all who are present will be 



64 THE VILLAGE SLANDER. 

good enougL. to listen to me. I met Mr. Smith 
in the road the other day. I had a staff in my 
hand, for I was lame. He asked *me how I did, 
and I replied that I had hurt my anMe with an 
ax." 

"Did you not say that you hurt your imcle with 
an ax?" cried the store-keeper, blushing as red as 
scarlet. 

"By no means," cried Windham,; and he imme- 
diately stripped down his stocking and laid bare a 
scar upon his ankle, which had evidently been 
the result of a blow from an ax. 

"The young man is right, it was my mistake!" 
said the store-keeper. "Give me your hand. I 
beg your pardon." 

Windham reached his hand to Smith, and all 
who were in the store walked up and shook 
hands with the young man, expressing their 
regret for the mistake into which they had 
fallen. 

Before the sun went down, there was not a 
man, woman, or child in the village who had 
not heard the triumphant refutation of the fool- 
ish slander. A reaction took place, and every 
villager was desirous of doing "Windham a kind- 
ness. But he did not see Mr. Kogers again 
until he was obliged to secure the services of 
that gentleman in a delicate affair, which con- 



THE VILLAGE SLANDER. . 65 

cerned Miss James equally with himself. He 
then thanked the clergyman for his timely ad- 
vice and assistance, and added : " Hereafter, 
when a false imputation rests upon me, I will 
meet it boldly, prove its source, and look it 
down at once." 



CHARITY ENYIETH NOT, 



By ALICE B. NEAL. 



CHARITY ENVIETH NOT. 



" You don't say so ?" 

" True as Gospel, Miss Snelling. That velvet cloak 
of hers, she calls it a Talma, cost every cent of 
twenty -five dollars. Then there is her bonnet; that 
came from Kew-York too: Miss Dunn's work ain't 
good enough for her of late years. Well, that bonnet 
couldn't be bought for less than eight dollars. Why 
the ribbons must be four-and-six a yard, not to speak 
of the feathei-s. Then there's that new plaid silk, 
you know, and that French merino ; neither of them 
less than twelve shillings, and that's the way she 
dresses. Time was when she was glad enough to get 
me to sew for her. I've had her beg and beg, and 
beseech me to give her a day, or even a half day, in 
my spring hurry ; and now she's got a seamstress, as 
she calls that stuck-up girl that sits in the sitting-room 
all day. She makes the children's clothes, and hern 
are cut and fixed in liTew-York, when they ain't 
made there." 



70 CHARITY ENVIETH NOT. 

"She's dreadful extravagant for a Churcli member," 
said Mrs. Snelling, with a sigh, as she tm*ned herself 
slowly round before the little looking glass. She was 
having a lining fitted ,by the village dress-maker. 
Miss Prime, and a merino dress she had worn two 
years was partly ripped up on the chair by the win- 
dow. It was the only dress-making she had on hand 
for the season. It was a hard winter, and what with 
the sickness of the children, and Mr. Snelling losing 
so much time by the frost, their means were unu- 
sually limited. ]^o wonder she thought of the ease 
and plenty of the rich manufacturer's household with 
a feeling of envy. She did not know it, though. She 
was a plain, good-hearted person naturally, strug- 
gling on to do her duty, through the discouragement 
of ill-health, ailing children, and very narrow means ; 
but she could not help thinking Mrs. Hubbard was 
getting worldly and extravagant, as 3'ear by year 
her household arrangements and personal expenses 
increased. 

Only the Sunday before, at meeting, she could not 
fix her attention upon the sermon for looking at the 
velvet Talma worn by her old friend and still kind 
neighbor, Mrs. Hubbard. Tliey were members of the 
same church, of which Mr. Hubbard was the most 
liberal supporter. He gave according to his means, 
and at the same time desired his wife and family to 
dress as became his altered condition and prospects. 



CHARITY ET^VIETR NOT. 71 

"Time was when she had to work hard enough," 
continued Miss Prime, pinching in a side seam in the 
endeavor to produce the hour glass shape, orthodox 
when phe " learned her trade." " I remember when 
they first set up housekeeping, and she had to do her 
own work as well as other people, and her own sew- 
ing too. Xow I don't believe she takes a needle in 
her hand from morning till night, while you and I, 
Miss Snelling, don't get many play spells." 

The lea^'cn of uncharitableness worked on in Mrs. 
Snelling's heart. 

" I'm afraid there is not much spiritual growth, 
Miss Prime. The cares of this world choke the seed." 
Poor woman, slie thought it was only an interest in 
her neighbor's best good that prompted such a 
constant review of her conduct. " People that have 
their hearts set on dress and high living can't have 
much time for better things." 

" That's what I think. Ho\\* do you like them hash 
waists, Miss Snelling ? I hear they're all the fashion 
in Kew-York. Miss Dunn said she'd try and get me 
a pattern when she went down in the spring. I 
wouldn't ask Mi's. Hubbard to lend me hers to look 
at for nothing in the world. How am I going to get 
out new backs, Mi's. Snelling ?" 

" There's the cape, yoii see." 

" Why so there is ! I never calculated the cape. 
I was studying and contriving all the time you were 



72 CHAKITY ENVIETH NOT. 

at breakfast. Says I, ^Miss Snelling will have to 
have them backs pieced, and then everybody in 
town will know it has been made over.' " 

As if everybody in Mrs, Snelling's community 
would not have known and noticed, that her brown 
merino of two winters ago had been turned and made 
up again for her best dress. She had set her heart 
early in the fall, on a new style of plaids, for sale at 
Erown and Plaisted's ; but the doctor's bill was so 
much larger than she expected, she was obliged to 
give it up. The sacrifice had cost her many hours 
of calculation, alternate resolves, and reconsideration. 
Every purchase that she made indeed was, of neces- 
sity, turned over and over in her mind for weeks. 

Miss Prime went on with her fitting by the 
window, and Mrs. Snelling with her task of washing 
up the breakfast dishes, jogging the cradle with one 
foot now and then, as her youngest child stirred in 
his morning nap. 

" That was a lucky thought, that cape." Miss Prime 
resumed her thimble and her conversation together. 
"It don't seem to be so much worn as the rest neither." 

" 'No, it isn't ; I only kept it for very cold days. I 
thought of it in church, Sunday, right in the middle 
of the sermon. Queer, wasn't it ? I was dreadfully 
afraid you couldn't get it out. So as soon as I came 
home, I took it out and looked at it ; sure enough, it 
was the veiy thing." 



CHARITY ENVIETH NOT. 73 

" I see Miss James has got a new cloak this winter. 
She hain't worn hers more than three winters, to 
my knowledge. Well, these rich people are just as 
worldly, for all I see, as if they wasn't professors." 
Miss Prime was one of the most constant attendants 
upon the prayer-meetings, and saw no " beam in her 
own eye." 

" Time was, as you say. Miss Prime, when we were 
all plain people together, with good feelings toward 
each other. I think of it very often — the days when 
Susan Hubbard and I used to send our little presents 
to each other, ]N"ew Year's, and be neighborly all 
along. That was before the Jameses moved here, or 
Lawyer Marten's people. She is so intimate with 
them now, she hasn't got any time for old friends. 
Many and many's the time Pve sent her things right 
off my table ; and when her Jane had the scarlet 
fever, I sat up with her night after night. But I 
don't mind that. What I look at is Christian pro- 
fessors being so taken up with dress, and going about, 
but dress particularly. It don't look right, and it 
isn't in accordance with Scripture." 

It was a wearisome, fatiguing day to Mrs. Snelling, 
who did the whole w^ork of her household. Her 
oldest son was learning his father's trade, and the 
dinner for the two had to be on the table precisely 
at twelve, for they had but an hour's nooning. So, 
scarcely were the breakfast things cleared away, when 



74 CHARITY ENVIETH NOT. 

there were the meat and vegetables to prepare for a 
" boiled dinner ;" and twice she was obliged to stand 
and be pinned up in the thick jean lining Miss Prime 
was fitting with unexampled tightness. The afternoon 
was no better ; she had Tuesday's ironing to finish, 
her little boy was sick and fretful, and very heavy ; 
he required to be nursed and tended as if he had been 
a baby. She wanted to sew with Miss Prime ; but 
no sooner would she get her needle threaded and her 
thimble on, than some new demand would be made 
upon her time ; and so the short afternoon passed 
before she could stitch up a seam, and tea must be 
ready by dark. Besides all this. Miss Prime was dis- 
posed to continue her conversation, with very little 
pause or stint, discussing the affairs of the neighbor- 
hood and the Church, with a train of moral and relig- 
ious and personal reflections. Every one knows how 
fatiguing it is to be expected to listen to such a dis- 
course, and respond in the right place, even when the 
mind is unoccupied ; and then the dress did not look 
near as well as Mrs. Snelling had figured it in her 
mind, the new pieces being several shades darker than 
the main body of the material. More discouraging 
than all, it needed "finishing off" when seven o'clock 
sounded the signal for the conference meeting, which 
Miss Prime would not miss on any account. 

" I wouldn't mind staying over my time just to 
give you a helping hand, if it wasn't Church-meeting 



CHARITY ENVIETH NOT. 76 

night ; but yon know it's very important all should 
be there that can. To be sure, Miss Hubbard is so 
took up with other things now, she never goes ; and 
though Miss James joined by letter when she came, 
she's never been to a business meeting. For my 
part, I think we've got just as good a right to vote 
in Church meeting as the men, and speak too, if we 
want to, though Deacon Smith has set his face against 
it of late years. So, you see, I'll have to go ; and 
there's only the facing to face down, and them seams 
to stitch up, and the hooks and eyes to go on. The 
sleeves are all ready to baste in — O, and there's the 
bones ; but bones are nothing to put in, especially as 
John Lockwood is to be dealt with to-night for going 
to the theater last time he was in ISTew-York. For 
my part, I never did put much confidence in his re- 
ligion ; and the more some of us stay away, the more 
the rest of us ought to go. Don't forget to take in 
that shoulder seam a little. For my part, I think his 
sister ought to be labored with for singing such 
songs as she does on the piano: clear love songs, 
and plays opera pieces. Miss Allen says. ISTow 
which is the worst, I'd like to know, going to the 
theater, or playing opera pieces? Miss Hubbard's 
Jane does that, when she's at home in vacation, 
though. That piece under the arm don't look so 
very bad. Miss Snelling — there ain't more'n two 
houi-s' work, any way." 



76 CHARITY ENVIETH NOT. 

Two hours' work to a person who could scarcely 
get time to do her own mending from week to week, 
was no trifle. Mrs. Snelling wavered for a little 
time between the accumulated pile of dilapidated 
under-clothes in the willow basket and the unfinish- 
ed dress; but the dress must be done before New- 
Year's day, now close at hand, and she lighted an- 
other lamp, and drew her little work-stand up to 
the fire, as the clock struck eight. Her mind had 
opened itself to discontented thoughts in the morn- 
ing, and " the enemy had come in like a flood," until 
all the brightness of her life had been swept out 
of sight. She saw only the successive woes of ill- 
health, loss, and wearing anxiety, which had rolled 
over them in the past, and a blank, dreary prospect 
in the future. Her very occupation reminded her 
of it. If she could have aflforded Miss Prime's as- 
sistance two days instead of one, she might have got 
ahead in her sewing a little ; now here was another 
drawback, and she had so little time. And " There 
was Susan Hubbard ; but then she did not give up 
everything to dress and display, thank goodness ! as 
Susan Hubbard did, bringing scandal in the Church, 
and setting herself up over everybody." 

A knock at the front door was a fresh annoyance ; 
for her work had to be put down again, and the sick 
boy quieted, before Mrs. Snelling went shivering 
through the cold to answer it. 



CHARITY ENVIETH NOT. 7T 

The neighborly visitor was no other than Mrs. 
Hubbard ; and " no fire except in the kitchen," was 
Mrs. Snelling's first thought, as slie recognized her 
with a mixed feeling of gratification, "hard thoughts," 
and curiosity. Certainly it was a curious coinci- 
dence that the person who had formed the subject of 
her thoughts and conversation so much of the day, 
should suddenly appear. 

" Don't mind me," Mrs. Hubbard said, pleasantly, 
stepping on before her old neighbor. " This way, I 
suppose." And she led the way to the kitchen her- 
self, thus avoiding the necessity of an aj^ology on the 
part of Mrs. Snelling. " How bright and cheerful a 
cook stove looks, after all ! and your kitchen always 
was as neat as wax. "We never used to keep but one 
fire, you know." 

This last was an unfortunate allusion. Mrs. Snell- 
ing's softening face gi-ew coldly rigid at what she 
considered an attempt to patronize her. 

" Poor folks had to," she said, taking up her work, 
and stitching away vigorously. 

" I haven't forgotten old times, Jane," Mrs. Hub- 
bard went on, not caring to notice the ungracious 
tone in which this remark was made, "when we 
were all beginning the world together. You seem 
to, though, for then you used to run in and see me, 
and I was thinking to-night you haven't been up to 
our house since October." 



78 CHARITY ENVIETH NOT. 

Mrs. Snelling began to say something about " not 
going where she was not wanted ;" but it died away 
lower and lower when she remembered that Mrs. 
Hubbard had been in twice since then. 

'' I know yon have a great deal to keep you at 
home ; I know how it used to be when my children 
were little. You didn't let me pay three visits to 
your one then, Jane." 

Mrs. H. drew her thimble from her pocket, and 
took up the top piece of mending from the big wil- 
low basket, in the most natural manner. 

" I can work and talk too, you know. Mr. Hub- 
bard has gone to Church meeting ; but I don't think 
it's exactly our place to attend to Church discipline ; 
we women are so apt to make a bad matter worse 
by talking it over among each other, and to people 
that it doesn't concern. So I thought I'd just run in 
sociably and bring my thimble, as we used to do for 
each other." 

Mrs. Snelling would have said, half an hour ago, 
that she was completely fortified against Mrs. Hub- 
bard's advances, in what shape soever; but she 
began to find a mist gathering in her eyes, as that 
old kindness and affection came stealing back again 
in recollection. But Mrs. Hubbard was a wise 
woman, and she knew that a friend aggrieved was 
hard to win, whether the offense had been intention- 
al or not. 



CHARITY ENVIETH NOT. 79 

" It's pretty hard work to live right, isn't it ?" she 
said, verging round again to the old subject, after a 
little talk about the roads and the weather. " Every 
lot in life has its trials. I used to look at rich people, 
and think that they hadn't a care in the world ; but 
now Mr. Hubbard has done so well, we have to live 
differently and dress differently, and there's no end 
to looking after things. I used to work hard all day, 
and when the children were asleep in the evening, 
sit down comfortably to sew or read; but there's 
something or somebody to see to, to the last minute. 
To be sure, as far as dress is concerned, I don't think 
half so much of it now as I used to, w^hen I had to 
plan and contrive about every cent. Why, I often 
used to find myself planning about my sewing in ser- 
mon time, if you will believe it, and how I should 
get the girls two dresses out of one of mine. To be 
sure, I have no such temptations now." 

Mrs. Snelling looked up suddenly, as the recol- 
lection of her Sunday plan about the cape came 
into her mind. Could it be that to Him unto 
whom all hearts are open, she had been the less 
sincere worshiper of the two ! 

"I should like to try a little prosperity by way 
of a change," she said, more pleasantly than she 
had last spoken, but still with bitterness beneath. 
" I'm tired of slavins^." 

"O, Jane!" Mrs. Hubbard said quickly, "don't 



80 CHARITY ENVIETH NOT. 

choose, don't choose your trials. I used to say 
that very thing, and that it was well enough for 
rich people to preach." Mrs. Snelling saw the 
painful expression that crossed her friend's face, 
and the current report of young Robert Hub- 
bard's dissipation came into her mind. '' Every- 
body has his own troubles; some don't stand out 
as plain as others, and don't get so much pity. Rich 
people get very little, and they have hard work 
enough to bring up their children right, and live 
in peace and charity with all. I've got so now I 
only ask for patience to bear the trial of the time, 
instead of praying to have it changed, and think- 
ing that I could bear any other better." 

The two women sewed in silence for a little 
while ; each heart knew its own bitterness. 

" Jane," Mrs. Hubbard said, stopping suddenly 
and looking into the bright grate in front of the 
stove, "shall I tell you what this puts me in 
mind of, seeing this nice, bright cooking-stove? of 
that ITew- Year's night, the winter Robert was 
sick, and our children were all little, when you 
came round and brought them over to spend the 
afternoon, and boiled candy for them, and let them 
pop corn. They brought us hom.e a plateful of 
braided sticks. Poor little things ! if it hadn't been 
for you, they wouldn't have had so much as a pin 
for a ISTew- Year's present; their father was so sick 



CHARITY ENVIETH NOT. 81 

and I was so worn out. Why, only think, they 
had been teasing nie to buy them some candy, and 
I did not feel that I could afford that quart of mo- 
lasses ! I've thought of it often and often since. 
Somehow, this winter there's scarcely a day when 
it doesn't come to my mind, and I always feel 
like crying." 

Mrs. Snelling was crying, as Mrs. Hubbard's 
voice faltered more and more; she did not attempt 
to conceal; it she remembered that ]^ew Tear's 
day so well, and how she pitied Susan's poor lit- 
tle boys, and brought them home, and made them 
as happy as children could be made, in the very 
kindness of her warm heart. Tlie long struggle 
with poverty and care had not seared it after all. 

"Don't cry, Jane; but you won't mind, and won't 
misunderstand me now, if I've bought you a !N^ew- 
Year's present of a dress? I was afraid you wouldn't 
take it as it was meant, if I just sent it. Here it 
is." And Mrs. Hubbard unrolled the very raw silk 
plaid Mrs. Snelling had so long coveted. "I wanted 
it to be useful, and I went down to get a cashmere 
like mine ; but you happened to be there when I 
went in, and I saw how^ long you looked at this." 

Mrs. Snelling remembered the day, and that she 
had come home thinking Mrs. Hubbard felt too 
grand to talk to her before the clerks. 

"I was afraid you would find me out, and so I 



82 CHARITY ENVIETH NOT. 

kept at the other end of the store. E'ow you will 
not misunderstand me, will you, Jane ?" 

" O, Susan, I had such hard thoughts, you don't 
know." And Mrs. Snelling put her apron up to 
her eyes, instead of looking at the new silk. 

"I^ever mind that now, it's only natural. I 
could see just how you felt, for the more I tried 
to be neighborly the colder you got. It has griev- 
ed me a good deal. But about the dress. Ann 
was not very busy, and so I had her make the 
skirt, as we could wear each other's dresses in old 
times, and every little helps when a person has a 
deal to do; if you will let me know when Miss 
Prime comes to make it up, she shall come over 
and sew for her." 

"Charity is not easily provoked, suffereth long, 
and is kind," was the minister's text the next Sun- 
day ; but Mrs. Snelling thought of a better illus- 
tration than any he could offer, and noted the 
rest of the verse with humiliation — charity envi- 

ETH NOT. 



THE 



ELOQUENT NEGEO PREACHER. 



THE 

ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 



CHAPTEK I. 



Engaged on a missionary reconnoiter in North- 
western Missouri, I started, on the 5th of , in the 

year , from the city of St. Louis, then a compara- 
tively little city, to my destination, distant between 
three and four hundred miles. A few days' travel 
plunged me into a wilderness well-nigh pathless, with 
hut here and there, at long intervals, a rude and soli- 
tary cabin. The proximity, however, of these " palaces 
of our Puritan fathers," at some of the eligible points 
on the water-courses, was such as to dignify the region 
with the title of " settlements." 

Sojourning for a day at one of these, and preaching 
to a congregation of scarce over a dozen, children and 
watch-dogs excepted, I was pleased to learn that a 
camp-meeting was then ]3ending at the next settle- 
ment, distant some twenty miles, held by our " Free- 
will Baptist" brethren, accompanied by a cordial 



86 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 

invitation to attend, by an official of tliat order. I 
also learned that the chief attraction of the occasion, 
as it respected ministerial ability, was a colored 
preacher by the name of Carper, an emancipated 
slave from Tennessee, greatly celebrated (and as we 
shall see presently, justly) for his impassioned elo- 
quence. My hospitable host and hostess dwelt upon 
his merits in terms of the most emj)hatic eulogy. 
" He's a mighty great preacher : he knows a heap : 
he's powerful at 'splanin' the Scripters," said the 
former. But here (and it seemed a thing to which 
he was used) he was suddenly interrupted by his 
loving spouse, a plump, neat, little, short, scarlet- 
cheeked, nimble-motioned woman, with a rather 
palish blue eye, that reposed in its artless purity 
like the maiden moon in the sky's blue depth. Her 
hair was flaxen, with an auburn tinge, seeming scru- 
pulously to eschew the red. Her lips were neither 
thick nor thin — a happy medium. She would not 
fly into a pet, nor pout when she was in one ; a rare 
union of " spunk" and patience, possessing enough of 
the former to take fire in a moment, if there were 
really an occasion ; and enough of the latter, not 
indeed to think before she spoke under provocation, 
but to consider after she had spoken, and take back 
what was rashly said. 

"With a nice little foot in a mongrel shoe, something 
between a shoe and a moccasin, a clean " linsey" 



THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 87 

dress, check apron, and a cotton handkercliief about 
her neck, she was busily engaged in frying a skillet 
of venison and baking the " corn-cake" over a huge 
hearth-fire, and restraining sundry little, tow-headed, 
half-clad, shoeless responsibilities, anxious to antici- 
pate the inviting repast, when, hearing the name of 
the favorite preacher called, accompanied by some- 
thing said in his praise, she whirled round like a top, 
and with her husband's large hunting-knife in her 
hand, she commenced, accompanying each sentence 
with a most emphatic and often not graceless gesture : 

"Why, Brother W., he's a posey of a preacher; 
he's a perfect flowing stream; he's a thunderbolt; 
he's elokent, so he is ; he's flowery as a prairie in 
June ; he's an eagle on the mountain peak ; he's an 
elk in the tall grass ; a son of the morning ; he's a 
caution — the highest larnt nigger ye ever seed. "Why, 
I've seed 'um fall under his preach'n as if they were 
shot, and a dozen jump and shout glory at once : I 
tell ye, he's a screamer, all the way from old Ten- 
nessee." 

Here I smiled and ejaculated astonishment, and 
her good-natured consort looked and nodded assent. 
By the way, he was a marked specimen of a far West 
" squatter," (there was a far West in those days,) a 
class of semi-civilized preemptioners, that kept gen- 
erally in advance of the chain and compass, taking 
their meat chiefly from the woods and the waves; 



88 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 

pasturing their flocks in those limitless meadows, out 
of whose flowery bosom the sun seems to come forth 
in the morning, and into which it seems again to 
nestle in the evening ; raising their scanty supply of 
bread on some of the alluvial deltas of the numberless 
streams that interlace, like fillets of silver, the broad 
lands of our Columbian Canaan. Pioneers of the 
pioneers compose this class. Often for years beyond 
the reach of the publican, the pedagogue, and the 
preacher, they are " a law unto themselves." Neces- 
sity is the parent of their arts, mutual interest the 
mother of their morals, and tradition and instinct the 
chief sources of their better hopes ; artless and igno- 
rant, with less of guile than many who know more. 
Knowledge, wealth, power, and place, much oftener, 
as yet, minister to corruption in this world, than to 
virtue. 

Mine host was a man of high cheek bones, long, 
projecting, and angular chin ; mouth large and sunk- 
en, as many teeth were minus ; nose long, but it 
had failed to " come to a point," and was a little 
flattened ; eyes small and of a darkish gray, not a 
quarter of an inch apart ; forehead high and not 
retreating, but projecting; big head, with dark bushy 
hair ; sallow countenance, with small neck ; long, 
brawny limbs, with short body. Attired in a hunt- 
ing shirt with a leathern girdle about him, mocca- 
sins, and a pair of doeskin galligaskins, much op-» 



THE ELOQUENT NEGEO PREACHER. 89 

posed in their lower extremities to the extension 
of territory, he sat npon a rude bench, leaning for- 
ward like a half-open jack-knife, listening with 
delight to the somewhat poetic enlogj of his better 
half on the famous negro orator. 

Our friend, it will be perceived, was the very 
impersonation of a take-life-easy kind of a genius. 
A little hen-pecked, (he richly deserved it,) but he 
did not know it ; one instance, at least, in which 
" ignorance is bliss." His heart reposed amid the 
" olive plants," and they were not few, that girdled, 
greedily, the frugal table of his forest home, like 
the downy bird that nestleth in the gaudy foliage 
of the rose bush, and feeleth not its thorn. "What 
solicitude should he feel about the future of his 
dear ones ? He had been flung into the woods from 
birth, helped himself and fared well enough, and 
so might the}^ The oldest, not over fifteen, could 
read an easy chapter in the Bible, by spelling the 
hard words; for the rest, they mostly knew their 
letters; the girls could hoe corn, hatchel flax, and 
spin; the boys were a dead shot, could shave the 
ear of a black squirrel with a rifle-ball, in the top 
of the tallest tree, and heart a buck at a hundred 
yards. In fact, our friend seemed greatly animated 
with the thought of the distinguished spheres in the 
world which his children bid so fair to fill. 

Our friend's head was not so large for nothing. 



90 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 

The world, to him, was very large and fiat, for it 
looked so ; and the stars high and little for the same 
reason. He was an adept, also, in at least some of 
Shakspeare's philosophy : 

" I know that the more one sickens the less at ease he is ; 
That the property of rain is to wet, and fire to burn ; 
That good pasture makes fat sheep, and that a 
Great cause of tlie night, is lack of the sun." 

But religion in the sublimity of its simplicity 
meets the wants of man in his intellectual infancy. 
Mind that scarcely buds here may still feel the 
genial warmth of her light, and shall blossom here- 
after in the mellow morning of her radiance. "The 
fool shall not" fatally " err" in his faith. Our friend 
believed that Jesus saved him; and that death would 
hand him through the grave to the embrace of 
angels. He believed, too, that his cherub boy, 
(" the smartest child he had ever had,") whose lonely 
grave, uppiled with rough stones, was by the root 
of an old oaken tree, in the depths of the dark wild- 
wood, would fly to him then, on wings of snowy 
white, and clasp his little arms about his neck, dry 
the last damps of grief from his cheek with his 
kisses of rapture, and sing in his bosom such luscious 
lullabies as infant angels soothe themselves to sleep 
on in the land of souls. Higher motives for his 
unlettered faith might have bewildered rather than 



THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 91 

have nurtured it. In the work of reform in the 
ruder j^hases of society, feeling has often in a great 
measure to be substituted for thinhing. Few are 
found who can be made to think ; all can be made 
to feel. And the attempt to exalt thinking at the 
expense of feeling has always involved the kid- 
gloved, college-made missionary for the far "West in 
a " splendid failure." " The pulpit pounder," and 
the pounder of benches and crazy tables for the 
Avant of pulpits to pound, the man of noise rather 
than niceties, of sound rather than sense, the man 
of stentorian lungs wet eyes, and tiny brain, among 
the cabins that first dotted our Southwestern frontier, 
has had his mission of power. But how absurd and 
how little in accordance with the progressive spirit 
of the age, would be a system of Church pohcy that 
should attempt to palm such preachers on a people 
more intellectually advanced, and plead the precedent 
of such examples. 

" Man wants but little here below, 
Nor wants that little long." 

In this sentiment our friend seemed truly orthodox, 
and showed his faith by his works. Astronomy or 
botany could be studied through his cabin by looking 
in almost any direction. The crazy, clap-board dooi*s 
sagged and creaked on their wooden hinges as if 
the tails of half of Samson's foxes had suddenly been 



92 THE ELOQUENT NEGEO PREACHER. 

caught in a vice. Undermined by wood mice, tv/o 
corners of the house, diagonally, had sunk a foot lower 
than the other two. The ridge pole swayed low in 
the center, giving the roof a saddle-like shape. The 
stick chimney, as if conceiving an aversion for its 
partner, leaned from the house at an angle of forty- 
five degrees, and was propped up with a pole. A 
poultry roost was between the upper half of the 
chimney and the gable of the house, as a protection 
against the wild " varmints." In short, our friend's 
"lodge in the vast wilderness" looked much like a 
black cocked hat, a little " tattered and torn." On 
its outer walls were stretched for preservation the 
skins of the raccoon, deer, and opossum. On its 
inner, and from its joists, hung strings of dried 
pumpkin, commingled with skeins of flax thread, 
jerked meats, clusters of choice corn, divers roots 
and " 'erbs," and filleted bunches of spearmint, cat- 
nip, and pennyroyal, the rarities and nnateria medica 
of backwoodsdom, (pity that they should ever be 
superseded.) The trusty rifle reposed on two wooden 
hooks just over the door. One oblong room served 
all purposes well, for which various rooms in domi- 
cils were ever thought of. Three large watch-dogs 
kept sentry at the door, and a little up-backed 
wiffet shared with grimalkin the " privileges of the 
house." 

Our friend's farm corresponded with all else. It 



THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHEE. 93 

consisted of a few weedy acres of prairie land, in- 
closed in a zigzag fence, and in no shape known in 
geometry. A fragile, bell-topped corn-crib, and a 
nondescript inclosure of logs with a hollow tree-boll 
for a manger, constituted the out-buildings. A living 
spring bubbled up at the base of an abrupt hill, a few 
paces distant; and its pebbled brooklet meandered 
through the unfenced door-yard, and sung its cease- 
less solo to the gabble of geese, the barking of 
curs, and the uproarious laugh of a dozen gipsy- 
looking, squalid children ; and then stretched away, 
widening as it went, through wild meadows which 
fringed its banks with a profusion of nameless under- 
growth, which bent as if to worship its refi'eshing 
presence, and interweave garlands of votive flowers 
in the flashing sheen of its crystal bosom, until it 
mingled its murmui'ings, melodies, and the cymbal- 
noted cadences of its tiny cascades with the majestic 
moanings of age-nursed forests, and was lost to the 
view. Over the up-welling fountain was reared a 
rude little structure, " the spring-house," over whose 
floor of rock flowed the ice-cold fountain, and in 
which was deposited for safe keeping the surplus of 
the scanty dairy. Snowy nectar and golden treasure, 
how sweet were ye to the taste of the weary itinerant ! 
Bees, hived in the hollow trunk of a tree, were hum- 
ming their industrial songs, as thej flew to their work 
of sweetness ; a gorgeous unroll of luxuriant green 



94 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 

and floral beauty lay, sea-like, around me, under the 
golden smile of a June sun, softened and mellowed 
by the aerial haze of the season, which spread over 
the hills and valleys like a gauzy vail on th6 virgin 
face of beauty, as I went to the spring with my good, 
easy, contented host, while our frugal dinner was 
being spread on a table of cleft boards. 

Returning to full trenchers, tin cups of milk, gourds 
of wild honey, and hot hoe-cakes, it seemed appropri- 
ate over the table to quote and comment upon the 
text, " Butter and honey shall he eat ; his bread shall 
be given him, and his waters shall be sure," etc. 
Waxing warm in my exegesis, our little voluble 
landlady in linsey laid down her pewter fork, and 
exclaimed, " Well, who ever hearn the like ! if that 
don't come up to Carper." 

" Yeas," replied mine host, with a dampened eye, 
" it's ezactly so ; I always kind a knowed it to be so ; 
but what a mighty good thing deep larnin' is arter 
all ! I've always had luck in huntin' if my corn does 
grow rather sorry." 

" I guess as how," said his wife, in a tone that 
showed that she meant to be understood, by her 
husband at least, rather affirmatively than interrog- 
atively, "I guess as how the boys don't hoe it 
enough !" 

I glanced at the stunted, weedy corn through the 
open door, and thought to myself, "How many who 



THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 95 

complain at the scanty supply of Providence, only 
prove by their murmurings that ' they don't hoe it 
enough !' " 

The next day we were all en route for camp- 
meetfng, where we arrived just as our sable orator 
arose 'to officiate. Sans ceremony, and declining- 
all, I took my seat with the congregation, which I 
perceived was large for the country, numbering 
perhaps three hundred. We scanned with no 
small interest the occupant of the "stand." He 
was a light-colored mulatto, age about fifty, a little 
corpulent, mouth large and well-formed, eyes rather 
small, chestnut-colored, looking a little dull, but 
lighting up with fire as he became excited. His 
brow was square, prominent, and retreating. In a 
word, his form was symmetrical, and countenance 
more intellectual than any one of his race I had 
ever seen; nor have I since, in this respect, ever 
met his equal, either indicatively or in fact. So- 
lemnity, simplicity, dignity, and sincerity marked 
his progress through the preliminaries. He pos- 
sessed but an imperfect knowledge of letters; 
read with hesitancy and inaccuracy ; seeming to 
depend less upon the text to guide him, than his 
memory. He spoke in the true negro dialect, but 
seemed to employ a refined, if you please, a classic 
species. It rolled from his lips with a sharpness 
of outline and distinctness of enunciation tha^ 



96 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 

seemed to impart to it a polish and a charm, trans- 
forming it into the language of beauty. Some sen- 
tences in his prayer are note-worthy, as furnishing 
a fair specimen of that artless eloquence that 
flowed as natural from his lips, and as fresh and 
sparkling, and seemingly as exhaustless as a mount- 
ain cascade. '"O Load, dou art bery great; all 
else but dee is as notting, and less dan notting; dou 
touchest de mountains and dey smoke ; dou boldest 
de great and mighty sea in de hollow ob dine 
hand, and takest up de isles as a bery little ting, 
and at dine rebukes de pillars ob heben shudder, 
and at dine purity de angels turn pale," &c. ''O 
Load, send de Star ob Bethlehem to shine in all 
lands, and de angels ob de manger cradle to sing 
in all countries, dat de world may be full ob de 
light ob lobe, and de music ob salvation, and be 
so mightily like heben, dat when de souls ob de 
good come back again to de world dey may scarce 
know de difference," etc. " O Load, gader all 
classes and colors to de cross, bind de parted na- 
tions togeder in a bond ob lobe, strong as de chain 
of dine eternal decrees, and lasting as all ages to 
come." His sermon, which followed, was jeweled 
with sentences of similar, and even surpassing- 
merit, uttered Avith a well-controlled and musical 
voice, with brimful eyes, and a pathos and power 
which it is less difficult to remember than not to 



THE ELOQUEKT NEGRO PREACHEE. 97 

envy. One would forget the visit of an angel as 
soon as tlie blazing countenance and magic mis- 
sion of the orator, who plays at will with his heart 
strings. Listening to the preacher, my delight was 
only excelled by my astonishment. Losing sight 
of color, and the degradation of his race, I rever- 
enced, in an unlettered African slave, the genius of 
an ApoUos and the force of an apostle. • At the 
close of each of his periods of fire, a volley of 
"amens" from the pious of his excitable audience, 
pealed up to heaven until the pendent boughs over 
our heads seemed to wave in the ascending gusts 
of devotion. Of the length of the sermon, I have 
no recollection. Of the sermon itself I have the 
most distinct recollection. His artless visions, like 
Hebrew poetry, hang as pictures in the memory, to 
which time but adds additional life and freshness. 
Here was unsophisticated genius, artless as child- 
hood, strong as Hercules, taught by God only, as 
were the fisherman founders of our faith, and seek- 
ing the covert of the wilds of the West to lavish 
its sparkling stores upon a rude and fugitive popu- 
lation. 



98 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 



CHAPTER 11. 

"What follows is scarcely an outline of his ser- 
mon, but rather a sketch of some of its most elo- 
quent passages. He announced for his text these 
words : 

"And a man shall be as a hiding-place from 
the wind, and a covert from the tempest; as riyers 
of water in a dry place, as the shadow of a great 
rock in a weary land." Isaiah xxxii, 2. 

Dare be two kinds ob language, de literal and 
de figerative. De one expresses de tought plainly, 
but not passionately; de oder passionately, but not 
always so plainly. De Bible abounds wid bof dese 
mode ob talk. De text is an ensample of dat lubly 
stile of speech de figerative. De prophet's mind 
was as clear as de sea ob glass in de Kebalations, 
and mingled wid fire. He seed away down de riber 
ob ages glorious coming events. He held his ear 
to de harp ob prophecy, and heard in its fainter 
cadences, loudening as he listened, de birf-song ob 
de multitude ob de hebenly host on de meadows ob 
Bethlehem. He seed de hills ob Judea tipped wid 
hebenly light; de fust sermun moimtin, and de 
transfigeration mountin, and de crucifixion mountin, 



THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 99 

tind de mountin ob ascension, clapped dare hands 
in de prophet's wision ob gladness. Gray-bearded 
Time stretched his brawny sinews to liasten on de 
fullness of latter-day glory. Brederen, de text am 
as full ob latter-day glory as am de sun ob light. 
It am as full ob Christ as de body ob heben am ob 
God. De sinner's danger and his certain destruc- 
tion ; Christ's sabin lub ; his sheltering grace and 
his feasting goodness am brought to view in de 
text, and impressed in de language ob comparison. 

" And a man shall be as a hiding-place from de 
wind." Many parts ob de ancient countries (and it 
still am de case) was desert ; wild wastes ob dreary 
desolation ; regions ob fine blistering sands ; just as 
it was leff when de flood w^ent away, and which has 
not been suffered to cool since de fust sunshine dat 
succeed dat event. No grass, no flower, no tree 
dare be pleasant to de sight. A scene of unrelebed 
waste ; an ocean made of powder, into which de 
curse ob angered heben had ground a portion ob 
eaiih. ]^ow and den, a huge rock, like shattered 
shafts and fallen monuments in a neglected grave- 
yard, and big enof to be de tombstone ob millions, 
would lift' its mossless sides 'bove de 'cumulating 
sands. 'No pisnous sarpint or venomous beast here 
await dare prey, for death here has ended his work 
and dwells mid silence. But de traveler here, who 

adventures, or necessity may have made a bold 

1 



100 .THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 

wanderer, finds foes in de elements fatal and resist- 
less. De long heated earth here at places sends up 
all kinds ob pisnous gases from de manj minerals ob 
its mysterious bosom ; dese tings take fire, and den 
dare be a tempest ob fire, and woe be to de traveler 
dat be obertaken in dis fire ob de Lord widout a 
shelter. Again, dem gases be pison, and dare be de 
pison winds, as well as de fire winds. Dey can be 
seen a coming, and look green and yeller, and cop- 
pery, spotted snake-like, and fioat and wave in de 
air, like pison coats on water, and look like de 
wing ob de death angel ; fly as swift as de cloud 
shadow ober de cotton field, and when dey obertake 
de flying traveler dey am sure to prove his winding- 
sheet ; de drifting sands do dare rest, and 'bliterate 
de faintest traces ob his footsteps. Dis be death in 
de desert, 'mid de wind's loud scream in your sand- 
filling ears for a funeral sermun, and your grave hid- 
den foreber. 'No sweet spring here to weave her 
hangings ob green 'bout your lub-guarded dust. De 
dews ob night shall shed no tears 'pon your famined 
grave. De resurrection angel alone can find ye. 

But agin dis fire wind and dis tempest ob pison 
dat widthers wid a bref, and mummifies whole cara- 
vans and armies in dare march, dare is one breast- 
work, one " hiding-place," one protecting " shadow " 
in de dreaded desert. It am " de shadow ob a great 
rock in dis weary land." Often has de weary trav- 



THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 101 

eler seen death in de distance, pursuing him on de 
wings of de wind, and felt de certainty ob his fate 
in de darkness ob de furnace-like air around him. 
A drowsiness stronger 'most dan de lub ob life 
creeps ober him, and de jaded camel reels in de 
lieby sand-road under him. A shout ob danger from 
de more resolute captin ob de caravan am sent along 
de ranks, prolonged by a thousand thirst-blistered 
tongues, commingled in one ceaseless howl ob woe, 
varied by ebery tone ob distress and despair. To 
** de great rock," shouts de leader as 'pon his Arab 
boss he heads dis ^' flight to de Eefuge." Behind 
dem at a great distance, but yet fearfully near for 
safety, is seed a dark belt bending ober de horizon, 
and sparkling in its waby windings like a great sar- 
pint, air hung at a little distance from de ground, 
and advancing wid de swiftness ob an arrow. Be- 
fore dem, in de distance, a mighty great rock spreads 
out its broad and all-resisting sides, lifting its nar- 
rowing pint 'bove the clouds, tipped wid de sun's 
fiery blaze, which had burnt 'pon it since infant cre- 
ation 'woke from de cradle ob kaos at de call ob its 
Fader. [Here our sable orator pointed away to 
some of the spui-s of the Ozark Mountains seen off 
to the northwest through a forest opening, at a dis- 
tance of from ten to fifteen, miles, and whose sum- 
mits of barren granite* blazed in the strength of a 
clear June sun, like sheeted domes on distant cathe- 



102 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 

drals.] Dat light be de light ob hope, and dat rock 
be de rock ob hope to de now %in', weepin'. faiiitin', 
and famishin' hundreds. De cap tin' has arrived 
dare. [Here a suppressed cry of " Thank God," 
escaped many of the audience.] See, he has dis- 
appeared behind it, perhaps to explore its cavern 
coverts. But see, he has soon reappeared, and wid 
joy dancing in his eye, he stands shoutin' and beck- 
onin', "Onward, onward^ onwaed, O^WAKD,'' 
when he reels from weariness and falls in behind de 
rock. [" Thank God, he's saved !" exclaimed a voice.] 
Onward dey rush, men, women, husbands, wives, 
parents and children, broders and sisters, like doves 
to de windows, and disappear behind dis rampart ob 
salvation. Some faint just as dey 'rive at de great 
rock, and dare friends run out and drag dem to de 
" hidin' place," when wakin' up in safety, like dat 
sister dare, dat lose her strength in de prayer-meetin', 
dey shout 'loud for joy. [Here many voices at once 
shouted " Glory."] De darknin' sand-plain ober 
which dese fled for life, now lies strewed wid beast, 
gib en out in the struggle, and all useless burdens was 
trov\'ed 'side. De waby sheet ob destruction, skim- 
min' the surface wid de swiftness ob shadow, now be 
bery near, and yet, a few feeble stragglers and lub- 
bed friends ob dis sheltered multitude are yet a 
great way off. [Here words 'Were uttered in a chok- 
ed accent, the speaker seeming unable to resist the 



THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 103 

thrilling character of the analogy.] Yes, a great 
way off. But see, moders and broders from behind 
de rock are shoutin' to dem to hasten. Dey come, 
dey come. A few steps more, and dey are sabed. 
But O, de pison wind is just behind dem, and its 
choke mist already round dem ! Dare one falls, and 
dare is a scream. ISTo, he rises again and am sabed. 
But one still is exposed. It be de fader ob dat little 
nest ob sweet-eyed children, for which he had fled 
to de rear to hurry on. Dey have passed forward 
and are safe. He am but a little distance from de 
rock, and not a head dares to peep to him encourage- 
ment from behind it. Already de wings ob de death 
angel am on de haunches ob his strong dromedary. 
His beast falls, but 'pon de moment ob him falling, 
de rider leaps out ob his saddle into dis " hiding- 
place from de wind." His little boy crouched in a 
hole ob de rock, into which he thrusts his head, 
entwines his neck with his little arms and says, 
" Papa, you hab come, and we be all here." [Here 
the shouts of " Salvation," " Salvation," seemed to 
shake the place in which we were assembled.] 

ISTow, de burnin' winds and de pison winds blow 
and beat 'pon dat rock, but dose who hab taken 
refuge behind it, in its overhanging precipices, are 
safe until de tempest am ober and gone. 

And now, brederen, what does all dis represent in 
a figure? Dat rock am Christ; dem winds be de 



104 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 

wrath ob God rabealed against de children ob dis- 
obedience. Dem that he sabed be dem dat hab 
fled to de refuge, to de hope set before dem in 
Christ Jesns de Lord. De desert am de vast 
howling wilderness ob dis world, where dare be 
so little ob lub, and so much ob hate; so little ob 
sincerity, and so much ob hyjDocrisy ; so little ob 
good, and so much ob sin; so little ob heben, 
and so much ob hell. It seem to poor me, dat 
dis world am de battle-ground ob de debil and 
his angels against Christ and his elect, and if 
de debil hab not gained de victory, he hold pos- 
session because every sinner am a Tory. God 
ob de Gospel, open the batteries of heben to-day ! 
(Here a volley of hearty "Amens.") Sinner, de 
wrath ob God am gathering against you for de 
great decisive battle. I already sees in de light 
ob Zina's lightnings a long embankment ob dark 
cloud down on de sky. De tall thunder heads 
nod wid dare plumes of fire in dare onward 
march. De day of vengeance am at hand. Mercy, 
dat has pleaded long for you wid tears of blood, 
will soon dry her eyes and hush her prayers in 
your behalf. Death and hell hang on your track 
wid de swiftness ob de tempest. Before you am 
de " hiding-place." Fly, fly^ I beseeches you, 
from de wrath to come ! 

But, brederen, de joy ob de belieber in Jesus 



THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 105 

am set forth in a iigerative manner in de text. 
It am compared to water to dem what be dying 
ob thirst. O, how sweet to de taste ob de desert 
traveler sweltering under a burning sun, as if 
creatitjn was a great furnace! Water, sweet, 
sparldin', livin', bubblin', silvery water, how does 
his languid eye brighten as he suddenly sees it 
gushing up at his feet like milk from de fount- 
ain ob lub, or leaping from de sides ob de 
mountain rock like a relief angel from heben. 
He drinks long and gratefully, and feels again 
de blessed pulsations ob being. And so wid 
de soul dat experience joy in beliebing; de sweets 
ob pardon ; de raptures ob peace ; de witnessin' 
Spirit's communings, and de quiet awe ob adop- 
tion. Such a soul be obershadowed wid de Al- 
mighty ; he linger in de shady retreats ob de 
garden ob God; he feed in de pastures ob his 
lub, and am led by still waters, and often visits 
de land ob Beulah, whare it always am light. 
But, my brederen, all comparison be too dispas- 
sionate, and an angel's words am too cold to 
describe de raptures ob salvation! It am un- 
speakable and full ob glory. De life ob inno- 
cence and prayer; de sweet, childlike smile and 
de swimmin' eye; de countenance so glorious in 
death, dat but for decay, de body ob de gone- 
home saint might be kept as a breathin' statue 



106 THE ELOQUENT NEGEO PREACHER. 

of peace and patience, smiling in victory ober 
all de sorrows ob life and de terrors ob death, 
are de natural language ob dis holy passion. O, 
glory to God! I feels it to-day like fire in my 
bones! Like a chained eagle my soul rises toward 
her native heben, but she can only fly just so 
high. But de fetters ob flesh shall fall off soon, 
and den, 

" ' I shall bathe my weary soul 
In seas ob hebenly rest, 
And not a wabe ob trouble roll 
Across my peaceful breast.' " ^ 

The sun had gone down in an ocean of vermilion, 
which had melted away at his setting into the silvery 
radiance of countless stars; the evening was not hot 
nor sultry, but mild and invigorating, and sweet as 
the breath of orange blossoms. ISTot a breeze was 
astir to wave or rustle the rich foliage of the slumber- 
ing forest. A mellow moon was half seen above the 
summit of a western hill, and her broad smile, gentle 
as love, was every moment adding enchantment to 
reality. We were in the bosom of the primitive 
wild- wood, where silence, solitude, and beauty seemed 
the presiding deities. Within a small tented circle, 
the camp-fires, and a few rude tapers affixed to the 
trunks of the sheltering trees, made all as light as a 
city church. It was an interim of worship from the 
stand, and prayer-meetings were in progress in the 



THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 107 

tents. Strolling out some distance from the camp- 
ground to meditate on the strangeness and loveliness 
of the scene about me, I was seated upon the trunk of 
a fallen tree, watching the rising moon and listening 
to the intermingling songs and praises of the forest 
worshipers, when I was joined, at my own urgent 
solicitations, by " Brother Carper^^"^ the ^ble orator, 
whom we have introduced to our readers. Seeming 
humbled by the interest I evinced in his history, he 
modestly gave me a hurried brief of it. He was 
born in " Old Kentuck." His mother was a full- 
blooded negress, a favorite slave, distinguished for 
her intelligence. His father, her master, was a white 
man, of liberal education, and distinguished by his 
tact and eloquence in the halls of legislation. Of his 
parentage on his father's side, he was ignorant until 
his death, knowing him only in the relation of a not 
over-lenient master. Falling to liis sqp, (in fact, his 
half-brother,) a benevolent, good man, his second 
master, for reasons one would think very natural, 
seemed desirous to secure to him his freedom. His 
master emigrated with his slaves to Tennessee. 
Carper obtained the reputation of being " a mighty 
smart and good nigger," and his master had refused 
tempting prices for him. He had obtained religion, 
joined the Baptist Chiirch, and was authorized to 
preach to people of color. His sermons, however, 
soon attracted the attention of the whites, and he was 



108 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 

\ 

considered an excellent preacher for a " nigger." 
Carper'^s success in his sacred vocation seemed bnt to 
increase his master's solicitude for his emancipation. 
Liberally tendering him the privilege of self-purchase, 
at a price less by one half than he would bring in 
market, our genius in a colored skin set himself about 
the task, -^j^hich, by dint of hard work, and the 
products of a few acres of ground, lent him for his 
exclusive use, he was enabled to accomplish in about 
three years. In the meantime he had planned the 
liberation of his wife, a slave belonging to a neigh- 
boring family, in the same manner. But on obtaining 
his own freedom, the family owning his wife and two 
children emigrated westward, and settled on the head 
waters of the Arkansas. Thither he chose to accom- 
pany them, when the breaking out of the cholera in 
the family, consigned his wife and children, with both 
their old "mg^sa and missus," to one common grave. 
Carper^ the I^egro Preacher, was left alone in the 
world with no other inheritance but his freedom. 
Subsequently to the time of our interview, he 
preached the Gospel pennyless and homeless, but 
beloved, for a few years longer in this wild region, 
when Providence offered him, and he joyfully 
accepted, the tenantry of a pine-shaded grave on the 
banks of the St. Francis River, where he now rests 
well, owning all the way to heaven. 



THE ELOQUENT NEGKO PREACHER. 109 



CHAPTEE in. 

Here is another of Carper's sermons. The sub- 
ject is the " River of the Water of Life." 

"And he showed me a pm-e river of water of 
life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne 
of God and of the Lamb." Eev. xxii, 1. 

Brederen, we all knows what a ribber am. It am 
a mighty pretty ting, an' always looks to me like 
a ribbin danglin' from de bosom ob old moder 
earth. Dere be White Ribber, an' dere be Black 
Ribber ; de Mississippi Ribber, an' de Ohio Ribber ; 
Tennessee an' old Tombigbee, which we used to 
see way down in old Alabama. How of 'en hab 
we stood on de banks ob some ob dese here rib- 
bers, an' seed dere blue or creamy waters move 
along dotted an' dented wid eddies an' ripples, 
like de great dent corn ob de big bottoms ; an' 
dese eddies, whirling an' gamboling, an' den melt- 
ing out into each oder, like de smile ob welcome 
on de face ob a friend, afore he do you a favor, 
an' seemin' to say ob de ribbers, whose waters dey 
adorn. We flow for all, an' flow on, on, foreber. 
What would we do in dis world widout ribbers ? 
Dey be de servants ob de sea, an' as dat great 



110 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 

water press itself up fru de earth, an' as de oun 
an' de cloud, as de larnt men tell us, lift its waters 
up fru de air, to descend in sparklin' showers on 
de hill an' de vale, de corn, cotton, tobacca, fill- 
in' men's hearts wid joy an' gladness ; an' dese 
ribbers gedder de sea-born springs an' de cloud- 
born rains, an' return dem again to dere home in 
de sea, to repeat dere mission ob mercy to man! 
De waters, brederen, are like circuit-riders, gwine 
all de while round an' round, doing good. O, how 
we lub our preacher! v/hen he come round here 
to dis 'pointment, an' preach once a day to us, 
poor black people, telling us how Jesus died for 
all, an' how dat we shall be as white as any ob 
dem in hebben, an' sweep de gold-paved streets ob 
de new Jerusalem wid our muslin robes ob linen, 
white an' clean, which be de righteousness ob de 
saints. Sister, instead dere ob leanin' ober de 
cotton-hill in de hot day, wid the great drops ob 
sweat drippin' down on the hoe-handle, an' castin' 
a wishful eye now an' den at your shortenin' shad- 
der, which am your watch to tell you when it is 
noon, instead ob wishin, in your weariness, dat de 
row was hoed out, de hoe-cake dun, an' dat de 
horn would blow, you shall bend wid an angel 
form ober de harp of Judea, an' wake its strings to 
dose notes — [here the old man's voice became very 
tremulous, and a big tear trembled in his eye] — 



THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PKEACHER. Ill 

which has sounded down de ages so sweet in de 
ears ob all de saints, an' which notes in hebben 
are as much sweeter in dere music den dey eber 
can be on earth, as de notes ob a fiddle ober yer 
gourd banjoes. [Here a loud shout of halleluiahs 
was raised, and the sable audience seemed to 
perfectly appreciate the illustration.] 

But I'se speakin' ob ribbers. Dey are God's great 
turnpike roads from the l^ort to de Sout, from de 
East to de West, an' de big steamboats jus walk 
in dem, not like de giants 'fore de flood to do no 
good, but to bear our cotton, an' rice, an' sugar to 
de market, an' make de hearts ob our massas laugh. 
Dey also float de "broad horn" [flat-bottom boat] 
from de upper country, bringin' down de pig, de 
beans, de bacon, an' de chick'ns, widout which our 
moufs at de sugar-house, in de cotton flelds, de rice 
swamp an' tobacca field, would seldom be blessed 
with greasy victuals, which poor slaye like as much 
as old Isaac like de sayory meat ob de deceiyin' 
Jacob. When we get to hebben, brederen, we shall 
hunger an' thirst no more. We shall lib just as 
well dere, in de quarters, as massa and missus in de 
mansion. Dere be no quarters in hebben ; all be 
mansions. We read ob many mansions, but ob no 
quarters ; ob saints an' angels, so many dat no man 
can number dem, an' yet ob no white folks nor black 
folks. [Here a yolley of "Amens" and ''Glories" 



112 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 

momentarily drowned the voice of the speaker.] 
Ribbers begin wid leetle creeks, which a leetle 
kitten might wade, an' swell to a greatness on 
w^hich de commerce ob de nations may trabel. Dey 
come widenin' an' widenin', an' growin' an' bilin', 
from old Chimborazo, de Mountains ob de Moon, 
de Rocky Mountains, or some oder region unknown 
to yer speaker's geography. Dere distant trabel, 
an' mighty grof, takin' de leetle streams an' lesser 
ribbers in dere bosom as dey flow, as a hen gadder- 
eth her chick'ns under her wings, am one ob de 
tings which I like to tink about, as dey makes me 
tink of Him who makes all tings ber^y good, an' who 
did not consider de garden ob Eden as finished till 
he had made a ribber to water it. De tree ob life, 
in de garden, no doubt, soaked its roots in de water 
ob dis ribber. 

But de tex speak ob de ribber ob life. Dis, bred- 
eren, be de ribber ob salvation. De world be bad 
off widout de great an' mighty ribbers which encir- 
cle it, like girdles ob silver an' purity, but much wuss 
off widout dis one great ribber ob life, proceedin' 
out of de trone of God an' de Lamb. In dis tex, 
salvation be compared to waters, an' its course in 
de world to a flowing ribber. Let us notice de last 
fac fust, trace de fountain head ob dis ribber, an' 
take a trip down it in de old ship Zion. 

Dis ribber flow out ob de trone of God ; dat is, it 



THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 113 

flow out ab God himself. God can hab no trone, an' 
when de Bible speak ob hira sitting on de trone like 
a king, it only speak in de language ob figure to 
help our idees. God am too great to hab a trone ; 
he fill eberywhar himself. Larnt men tell us dat dis 
earth be mighty big, eight thousand miles fru it, 
an' twenty-four thousand miles around it ; an' 'stron- 
omers tell us dat dere be millions ob worlds all 'bout 
us, dancin' in noffin'ness, many hundred times greater 
den dis, an' yet if all dese worlds were put togedder 
to make a seat for God to sit upon, dey wouldn't 
answer de purpose any more den a pin's head would 
hab done for Jacob's pillar at Bethel, when he seen 
de angels comin' down an' goin' up agin to hebben, 
as it were on a ladder. Sister, don't you nebber 
tink dat yer leetle child who die in your arms, a 
long time ago, down in old Alabama, does not come 
down here in de night seasons, an', in de form of an 
angel, spread its wing ober yer piller, or nestle in 
yer busum ? O ! when I lost my sweet, darlin' boy, 
dat belong to Judge Noble, way down in Georgia, 
de third night after I buried him under de yellow 
clay, it seem as dough I seen him in de quarters, a 
lookin' right at me, an' pointin' away up in de sky, 
sayin'. Daddy, I lib up yender ! [Here a large, fat 
sister fetched a scream, and commenced jumping 
toward heaven, with streaming eyes exclaiming, 
" Dere's my home an' portion fair," etc. But after 



114 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 

this temporary episode and agreeable interruption 
the speaker slowly and eloquently proceeded.] God 
am great, too great to sit down, too great to stand 
up, too great to take form ; he be widout body or 
parts. God am a spirit, an' dis ribber ob life head 
in dis infinite fountain. It am de Spirit dat quicken- 
eth our dead souls; it be de Spirit dat beget us anew 
in Christ Jesus ; it be de Spirit dat make us happy. 
When we be filled wid de Spirit, we be filled wid 
de new wine ob de kingdom. De Holy Ghost be 
one ob de authors ob salvation. Den dere be de 
Lamb ; O, de precious, bleedin'. Calvary Lamb ! 
God, trone, Lamb ! Dis, brederen, teach de doctrine 
ob de holy Trinity. As de ribber dat watered Para- 
dise, so de ribber ob salvation, dat water de world, 
rise in tree springs, an' yet are dese springs but one. 
Dere be tree dat bear record in hebben, but dese 
tree are one. 

But now ob de ribber. An', fust, like all de rib- 
bers, it begin in a little spring branch. Dere be 
what I call de ribber ob promise. When Adam 
fell, an' de debbel tought he had outdone God, an' 
was about to run away wid de world, God appeared 
amid de glories ob him shameful victory, an' prom- 
ised to bruise him head wid de seed ob de bery 
woman he had deceived. Dis, brederen, must hab 
humbled, 'stonished, an' alarmed de debbel terribly, 
as we do not s'pose he know what war comin'. 



THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 116 

His hell was beiy hot before, but he had now 
'creased it by an attempt to 'stinguish de flames 
dat tortured him. Adam an' Eve, sorry for what 
dey had done, an' fully believin' dis promise ob de 
Lord, hung up dere blasted hopes on dis golden 
chain let down from hebben, an' waterin' it wid 
de tears ob dere penitence, it soon bloomed agin 
like de orange blossoms on de coast in de spring 
ob de year. Here war de beginnin' ob dis ribber. 
It flowed out ob Eden, an' our fust parents were 
compelled to follow its course, an' to find in drinkin' 
ob its waters dere only consolation. Abel drinked 
ob dem as he lifted up his bleedin' lamb upon his 
altar. Enoch always dwelt near de brink of its 
waters. An' by invitation ob de angels, one day, 
who were guidin' its infant channel, he went home 
wid dem to hebben. He war not, for God took 
him; took to show in de 'ginnin' ob de world's 
history, dat body as well as soul war to go up to 
hebben. De tree ob life, which would hab kept 
us from bein' sick or dyin', Adam war removed 
from, so dat now our souls an' bodies must be sep'- 
rated by death ; but dey are to be put togeder agin 
in de resurrection. Oder patriarchs, an' N'oali an' 
him sons, seated upon de bank ob dis ribber, drank 
ob its waters, an' lib foreber. After de flood, 
Abraham war called from Ur ob de Chaldees to 
settle upon its widenin' banks, an' teach his children 



116 THE ELOQUENT NEGKO PREACHER. 

after him de efficacy ob its waters. But time would 
fail us to speak ob Melchizedek, ob Isaac, ob Jacob, 
ob Joseph an' Moses, ob Aaron an' Dabid, ob de 
lawgibbers, priests an' kings, all who libbed along 
on de banks ob dis ribber, like de beautiful houses 
dat peep from orange groves, from behind de levee, 
along de mighty Mississippi. All dese libbed on 
de ribber ob promise. Den dere were prophets^ 
who declared dat de ribber war flowin' on, and dat 
it would break forth in a mighty flood, an' spread 
ober de whole earth ; dat reeds an' rushes should 
spring up 'mid rocks an' sands; an' dat harvests 
should wave, an' beauty should blush whar total 
barrenness had reigned sobereign for six thousand 
years. Here old Isaiah, who tuned his harp by 
hoi din' his ear up to hebben, an' catchin' de key- 
note ob dis new an' strange moosic, which de angels 
invented 'mid dere rapturous 'stonishment, when 
dere war silence up dere for de space ob half an 
hour : " De wilderness an' de sol'tary place shall be 
glad for dem, an' de desert shall rejoice an' blossom 
as de rose. It shall blossom 'bundantly, an' de 
glory ob Lebanon, ob Carmel, an' ob Sharon shall 
be gib'n it. De parched ground shall become a 
pool, an' de tirsty land springs ob water; an' de 
hab'tation ob dragons, whar each lay, shall become 
green an' grassy, wid reeds an' rushes. A 'ighway 
shall be dere ;" dat be dis ribber. [Amen.] " It shall 



THE ELOQUENT NEGKO PREACHEK. 117 

be called cle way ob holiness ;" dat be dis ribber, 
[Amen;] "de unclean shall not pass ober it, [Glory,] 
but it shall be for dose" — us poor, unlarnt people 
ob color — "de wayfarin' men, dough fools, shall not 
err derein." [Glory ! Halleluiah !] O, brederen, 
how sweet to float down dis ribber ! Of n, when I 
hab floated down de Mississippi, on one ob massa's 
boats, an' set down on de deck in de ebenin', when 
all be still, an' de pale silbery moon show ebery- 
ting in de hazy, mellow light; an' I'd hear de boat- 
horn from afar, 'bove us, fillin' de whole air wid 
sweet, sad music, seemin' to say, We are comin', wid 
de voice ob song, an', like you, hastenin' down de 
ribber to obtain de treasures : of 'n, den, liab I tought 
ob dis ribber ob salvation ; and I tink ob dis fact, 
now, when I hear Isaiah's windin' horn away up de 
ribber ob life in tones ob joy an' gladness. But 
de stream ob ages, floatin' down de waters ob dis 
ribber ob promise an' ob prophecy, break forth into 
de ribber of redemption and fulfillment, when, in- 
stead ob prophet's harps, or smokin' tyjoes, a light 
is seen upon de plains ob Bethlehem, which smote 
pious sliepherds to de ground, followed by a multi- 
tude ob de hebbenly host, singin' togeder in de 
midnight sky, old Adam himself, p'raps, pourin' out 
his voice in bass, " Glory to God in de highest, on 
earth peace, an' good-will to man." Ob de 'istory, 
ob de birf ob Jesus, ob his life ob miracles an' mercy, 



118 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 

ob liis death on Calvary, his resurrection de third 
day, an' ob his gwine up into hebben, we hab no 
time now to speak. But, O ! how sweet de story, 
an' what a mighty rise here in dis ribber ob salva- 
tion ! It has been risin' ebber since ; ebery shower 
cause it to oberflow its banks, widin which, de old 
Jews always tought dey would keep it — de banks 
ob de law, brederen, dat is, de law ob carnal ordi- 
nances, which neider we nor our faders were able 
to bear. 

De fust great shower dat produced de fust great 
freshet in dis ribber, came to pass on de day 
ob Pentecost. Tree tousand here drinked ob its 
waters, an' eber after took passage in de old ship 
Zion. Dey be 'rived safely on t'other shore. But 
de shower dat turn away dis ancient ribber for 
eber from its old channel, an' send it forth to water 
de earth wherebber it was tirsty, took place at de 
house ob Cornelius de Gentile. He war dry, and 
knew not what to drink. His alms an' prayers 
went up to God, but Christ come not into his 
heart, de hope ob glory. To be good, an' to do 
good, brederen, is not to hab religion. Yet dem 
dat hab religion will always be good an' do good. 
An angel reliebed Cornelius, an' might hab pointed 
his thirsty soul to de exhaustless watei-s ob de rib- 
ber ob life. But angels may sing ebbery time far- 
off Omnipotence make a new world to break de 



THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 119 

blank ob emptiness; dey may eben be jurymen, 
an' help to judge de world in de day ob judgment ; 
but dey sliall not fill de exalted office ob preachin' 
to man. Dis office has been reserved alone for 
frail flesh, an' eben poor, despised "nigger" am 
permitted to fill dis princely station. Dis be to 
show de honor which God put upon our flesh 
when he came down to dis earth. Dis show, too, 
dat dis frail body, which crawlin' worms will 
consume, has been tak'n into de keepin' ob God, 
an' dat he will keep it, dough de lightnins may 
sport wid it, de alligators chaw it up, as dey did 
my broder, or de plow turn up our bones to bleach 
in de cotton-fields, as it has some ob our people 
'fore us. For I be persuaded dat He will keep 
dat which I hab committed unto Him against dat 
day. 

An' now, brederen, a word about de waters ob 
salvation. Dey be pure, clear as crystal. Dis be 
intended to show de word ob God, or de truth ob 
God, in which dere be no mixture ob error. Just 
tink how clear an' nothin'like, and yet it be 
somefin' ! De pure waters gurgle up in your 
spring- house, so dat you can see de bottom ob de 
spring just as easy as if nothin' war dere. An' yet, 
when de day am hot an' you be dry, how you lub to 
take de gourd dat hang up dere, an' lift to yer 
lip dat pure substance, winch, when you hab 



120 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 

drunk, you feel strong agin, an' good all ober. 
1^0 w, brederen, it be so wid de truth ob God to 
dat weepin', penitent, despairin' sinner. When he 
drink ob dese pure waters, clear as crystal, dey 
make bof soul an' body happy. O, sinner, come 
to dis flowin' ribber! its waters murmur at yer 
feet ; its billers kneel beseech'n'ly to you, cryin', 
"Ho, ebbery one dat tirsts, come ye to de waters, 
an' him dat hab no money ; come ye, buy wine an' 
milk, widout money an' widout price." Tes, tank 
God, dis ribber be water, or milk, or wine to us, 
'cordin' to our faith ; a continual feast to de poor, 
as well as to de rich. Halleluiah ! bless God dat 
he ebber let loose dis ribber ! How rapidly we 
glide to-day upon its movin' waters ! It will open 
in de ocean ob eternity, right at de entrance ob 
which am an island, called the land ob Beulah, 
whar dere am always light, life, an' love, an' whar 
de ransomed ob de Lord shall be near him, an' 
go 'way from him into sin an' sorrow no more, 
foreber an' eber. May we land safely dere, is de 
prayer ob yer unwordy speaker. 



THE 



IE¥ PLEASURE 



By T. S. ARTHUR. 



THE NEW PLEASURE, 



The whole pleasure of Mr. Bolton's life had been 
the accumulation of property, with an end to his own 
gratification. To part with a dollar was, therefore, 
ever felt as the giving up of a prospective good ; and 
it acted as the abridgment of present happiness. Ap- 
peals to Mr. Bolton's benevolence had never been very 
successful ; and in giving, he had not experienced the 
blessing which belongs of right to good deeds. The 
absolute selfishness of his feelings wronged him of 
what was justly his due. 

Thus passed the life of Mr. Bolton. Dollar was 
added to dollar, house to house, and field to field. 
Yet he was never satisfied with gaining ; for the little 
he had looked so small, compared with the wealth 
of the world, after the whole of which his heart really 
panted, as to appear at times actually insignificant. 
Thus, as he grew older, he set a higher value upon 
what he had, as a means of gaining more ; and, in 
parting with money, did so at the expense of a daily 
increasing reluctanc-v. 



124 THE NEW PLEASURE. 

In tlie beginning of life, Mr. Bolton possessed a few 
generous feelings, the remains of early and innocent 
states stored up in childhood. His mother, a true 
woman, perceiving the strong selfish and accumulat- 
ive bent of his character, had sought, in every possible 
way, to implant in his mind feelings of benevolence 
and regard for others. One mode of doing tliis had 
been to introduce him into scenes that appealed to 
his sympathies. She often took him with her to see 
poor or sick persons ; and so interested him in them, 
as to create a desire in his mind to afford relief. 
As soon as she perceived this desire awakened, 
she devised some mode of bringing it into activ- 
ity, so that he might feel the delights which 
spring from the consciousness of having done good 
to another. 

But so strong was the lad's hereditary love of self, 
that she ever found difiiculty in inducing him to sacri- 
fice what he already considered his own, in the effort 
to procure blessings for others, no matter how greatly 
they stood in need. If urged to spend a sixpence 
of his own for such a purpose, he would generally 
reply : 

" But you've got a great many more sixpences than 
I have, mother : why don't you spend them ?" 

To this Mrs. Bolton would answer as appropriately 
as possible ; but she found but poor success in her 
efforts, which were never relaxed. 



THE NEW PLEASURE. 125 

In early manhood, as Mr. Bolton began to come in 
actual contact with the world, the remains of early 
states of innocence and sympathy with others came 
back, as we have intimated, upon him ; and he acted, 
in many instances, with a generous disregard of self. 
But as he bent his mind more and more earnestly 
to the accumulation of money, these feelings had less 
and less influence over him. And, as dollar after 
dollar was added to his store, his interest in the wel- 
fare of others grew less and less active. Early friend- 
ships were gradually forgotten ; and the mutual desire 
to see early friends prosperous like himself gradually 
died out. " Every man for himself " became the lead- 
ing principle of his life, and he acted upon it on all 
occasions. In taking a pew in church, and regularly 
attending worship every Sabbath, he was governed 
by the idea that it was respectable to do so, and gave 
a man a standing in society, that reacted favorably 
upon his worldly interests. In putting his name to a 
subscription paper, (a thing not always to be avoided, 
even by him,) a business view of the matter was in- 
variably taken ; and the satisfaction of mind experi- 
enced on the occasion, arose from the reflection that 
the act would benefit him in the long run. As to the 
minor charities, in the doing of which the left hand 
has no acquaintance with the deeds of the right hand, 
Mr. Bolton never indulged in them. If his left hand 
had known the doings of his right hand, in matters 



126 THE NEW PLEASURE. 

of this kind, said hand would not have been much 
wiser for the knowledge. 

Thus life went on ; and Mr. Bolton was ever busy 
in his golden harvest ; so busy that he had no 
time for anything else, not even to enjoy what he 
possessed. At last he was sixty years old, and his 
wealth extended to many hundreds of thousands of 
dollars. But he was further from being satisfied 
than ever, and less happy than at any former period 
in his life. 

One cause arose from the fact that, as a rich man, 
he was constantly annoyed with applications to do a 
rich man's part in the charities of the day. And 
to these applications it was impossible to turn a 
deaf ear. Give he must, sometimes ; and giving al- 
ways left a pain behind, because the gift came not 
from a spirit of benevolence. There were other and 
various causes of unhappiness, all of which, combining, 
made Mr. Bolton, as old age came stealing upon him, 
about as miserable as a man could well be. Money, 
in his eyes the greatest good, had not brought the 
peace of mind to which he had looked forward ; and 
the days came and went without a smile. His chil- 
dren had grown up and passed into the world ; and 
were, as he had been at their ages, so all-absorbed by 
the love of gain as to have little love to spare for any- 
thing else. 

About this time, Mr. Bolton, having made one 



THE NEW PLEASURE. 127 

or two losing operations, determined to retire from 
business, invest all ^ his money in real estate and 
other securities, and let the management of these 
investments constitute his future employment. In 
this new occupation he found so little to do, in com- 
parison with his former busy life, that the change 
proved adverse, so far as his repose of mind was 
concerned. 

It happened, about this time, that Mr. Bolton 
had occasion to go some twenty miles into tlie 
country. On returning home, and when within a 
few miles of the city, his carriage was overset, 
and he had the misfortune to fracture a limb. 
This occurred near a pleasant little farm-house, 
that stood a short distance from the road ; the 
owner of which, seeing the accident, ran to rein- 
state the carriage, and assisted to extricate the in- 
jured man. Seeing how badly he was hurt, he 
had him removed to his house, and then taking 
a horse, rode off two miles for a physician. In 
the meantime, the driver of Mr. Bolton's carriage 
was dispatched to the city for some of his family, 
and his own physician. The country doctor and 
the one from the city arrived about the same 
time. On making a careful examination as to 
the nature of Mr. Bolton's injuries, it was found 
that his right leg, above the knee, was broken, 
and that one of his ankles was dislocated. He 



128 THE NEW PLEASURE. 

was suffering great pain, and was much exhausted. 
As quickly as it could be done, the bone was set, 
and the dislocation reduced. By this time it was 
nightfall, and too late to think seriously of re- 
turning home before morning. The moment Mr. 
Gray, the farmer, saw the thoughts of the injured 
man and his friends directed toward the city, he 
promptly invited them to remain all night, and 
as much longer as the nature of Mr. Bolton's 
injuries might require. This invitation was thank- 
fully accepted. \ 

During the night Mr. Bolton suffered a great 
deal of pain, and in the morning, when the phy- 
sician arrived, it was found that his injured limb 
was much inflamed. Of course, a removal to the 
city was out of the question. The doctors declared 
that the attempt would be made at the risk of 
his life. Farmer Gray said that such a thing must 
not be thought of until the patient was fully able 
to perform the journey ; and the farmer's wife as 
earnestly remonstrated against any attempt at hav- 
ing the injured man disturbed, until it would be 
perfectly safe to do so. Both tendered the hospi- 
tality of their humble home with so much sincerity, 
that Mr. Bolton felt that he could accept it of 
them with perfect freedom. 

It was a whole month ere the old gentleman 
was in a condition to bear the journey to town ; 



THE NEW PLEASURE. 129 

and not once, during the whole of that time, had 
Mr. and Mrs. Gray seemed weary of his presence, 
nor once relaxed in their efforts to make him 
comfortable. As Mr. Bolton was about leaving, 
he tendered the farmer, with many expressions of 
gratitude for the kindness he had received, a 
hundred dollar bill, as some compensation for the 
trouble and expense he had occasioned his family. 
But Mr. Gray declined the offer, saying, as he did so : 

"I have only done what common humanity re- 
quired, Mr. Bolton ; and were I to receive money, 
all the pleasure I now experience would be gone." 

It was in vain that Mr. Bolton urged the farmer's 
acceptance of some remuneration. Mr. Gray was 
firm in declining to the last. All that could be 
done was to send Mrs. Gray a handsome present 
from the city; but this did not entirely relieve 
the mind of Mr. Bolton from the sense of obliga- 
tion under which the disinterested kindness of the 
farmer had laid him ; and thoughts of this tended 
to soften his feelings, and to awaken, in a small 
measure, the human sympathies which had so 
long slumbered in his bosom. 

Several months passed before Mr. Bolton was 
able to go out, and then he resumed his old employ- 
ment of looking after rents, and seeking for new 
and safe investments that promised some better 
returns than he was yet receiving. 



130 THE NEW PLEASURE. 

One day, a broker, who was in the habit of 
doing business for Mr. Bolton, said to him; 

"If you want to buy a small, well-cultivated 
farm, at about half what it is worth, I think I 
know where you can get one." 

"Do your 

"Yes. Three years ago it was bought for three 
thousand dollars, and seven hundred paid down in 
cash. Only eight hundred dollars have since been 
paid on it; and as the time for which the mortgage 
was to remain has expired, a foreclosure is about to 
take place. By a little management, I am satisfied 
that I can get you the farm for the balance due on 
the mortgage." 

" That is, for fifteen hundred dollars ?" 

"Yes." 

"Is the farm worth that? Will it be a good in- 
vestment ?" 

"It is in the highest state of cultivation. The 
owner has spent too much money upon it. This, 
with the loss of his entire crop of wheat, rye, oats, 
and hay, last year, has crippled him and made it 
impossible to pay the mortgage." 

" How came he to meet with this loss ?" 

" His barn was struck by lightning." 

" That was unfortunate." 

" The farm will command, at the lowest, two hun- 
dred and fifty dollars rent; and by forcing a sale 



THE NEW PLEASURE. 181 

just at this time, it can be had for fifteen hundred 
or two thousand dollars, half its real value." 

" It would be a good investment at that.'* 

After making some brief inquiries as to its loca- 
tion, the quality of the land, the improvements, etc., 
Mr. Bolton told the broker, in whom he had great 
confidence, that he might buy the property for him, 
if he could obtain it for anything below two thou- 
sand dollars. This the broker said he could easily 
do, as the business of foreclosure was in his own 
hands. 

In due time Mr. Bolton was informed by his 
agent in the matter, that a sale under the mortgage 
had taken place, and that by means of the little 
management proposed, he had succeeded in keeping 
away all competition in bidding. The land, stock, 
farming implements and all, had been knocked down 
at a price that just covered the incumbrance on the 
estate, and were the property of Mr. Bolton, at half 
their real value. 

'' Tliat was a good speculation," said the grayhead- 
ed money-lover, when his agent informed him of 
what he had been doing. 

" Fii-st-rate," replied the broker. "The fai-m is 
worth every cent of three thousand dollars. Poor 
Gray ! I can't help feeling sorry for him. But it is 
his luck! He valued his farm at three thousand 
dollars. A week ago he counted himself worth two 

9 



132 THE NEW PLEASURE. 

thousand dollars. Now he isn't worth a copper. 
Fifteen hnndi'ed dollars, and three or four years' 
labor thrown away into the bargain. But it's his 
luck. So the world goes. He must try ag^ain. It 
will all go in his lifetime." 

"Gray? Is that the man's name?" inquired Mr. 
Bolton. His voice was changed. 

" Yes. I thought I had mentioned his name." 

"I didn't remark it, if you did. It's the farnr 
adjoining Harvey's, on the north?" 

"Yes." 

" I have had it in my mind, all along, that it was 
the one on the south." 

"ISTo." 

" "When did you see Mr. Gray ?" 

" He was here about half an hour ago." 

" How does he feel about the matter ?" 

"He takes it hard, of course. Any man would. 
But it's his luck, and he must submit. It's no use 
crying over disappointments and losses in this 
world." 

Mr. Bolton mused for a long time. 

"I'll see you again to-morrow," he said at 
length. "Let everything remain as it is until 
morning." 

The man who had been for so many years sold, as 
it were, to selfishness, found himself checked at last 
by the thought of another. While just in the act of 



THE NEW PLEASURE. 133 

grasping a money advantage, the interest of another 
rose up, and made him pause. 

" If it had been any one else," said he to himself, 
as he walked slowly homeward, " all would have 
been plain sailing. But — but — " 

The sentence was not finished. 

"It won't do to turn him away," was at length 
uttered. " He shall have the farm at a very moder- 
ate rent." 

Still, these concessions of selfishness did not relieve 
the mind of Mr. Bolton, nor make him feel more 
willing to meet the man who had done him so great 
a kindness, and in such a disinterested spirit. 

All that day, and for a portion of the night that 
followed, Mr. Bolton continued to think over the 
difl&culty in which he found himself placed, and the 
more he thought, the less willing did he feel to take 
the great advantage of the poor farmer at first con- 
templated. After falling asleep, his mind continued 
occupied with the same subject, and in the dreams 
that came to him he lived over a portion of the past. 

He was again a helpless invalid, and the kind 
faiTaer and his excellent wife were ministering, as 
before, to his comfort. His heart was full of grateful 
feelings. Then a change came suddenly. He stood 
the spectator of a widely-spread ruin that had fallen 
upon the excellent Mr. Gray and his family. A 
fierce tempest was sweeping over the fields, and 



134 THE NEW PLEASURE. 

bearing all, houses, trees, and grain, in rnin to the 
earth. A word spoken by him would have saved 
all; he felt this; but he did not speak the word. 
The look of reproach suddenly cast on him' by the 
farmer, so stung him that he awoke ; and from that 
time until day dawned, he lay pondering on the 
course of conduct he had better pursue. 

The advantage of the purchase he had made was 
so great, that Mr. Bolton thought of relinquishing 
it with great reluctance. On the other hand, his 
obligation to the farmer was of such a nature, that 
he must, in clinging to his bargain, forfeit his self- 
respect, and must suffer a keen sense of mortifica- 
tion, if not dishonor, at any time that he happened 
to meet Mr. Gray face to face. Finally, after a long 
struggle, continued through several days, he resolved 
to forego the good he had attempted to grasp. 

How many years since this man had done a gen- 
erous action ! since he had relinquished a selfish and 
sordid purpose out of regard to another's well-being ! 
And now it has cost him a desperate struggle ; but 
after the trial was past, his mind became tranquil, 
and he could think of what he was about to do with 
an emotion of pleasure that was new in his experi- 
ence. Immediately on this resolution being formed, 
Mr. Bolton called upon his agent. His first inquiry 
was : 

" "When did you see Gray ?" 



THE NEW PLEASURE. 135 

" The previous owner of your farm ?" 

"Yes." 

"jSTot since the sale. You told me to let every- 
thing remain as it was." 

"Hasn't he called?" 

"Ifo." 

" The loss of his farm must be felt as a great mis- 
fortune." 

"ISTo doubt of that. Every man feels losses as 
misfortunes. But we all have to take the good and 
the bad in life together. It's his luck, and he must 
put up with it." 

" I wonder if he hasn't other property ?" 

"No." 

" Are you certain ?" 

" O, yes. I know exactly what he was worth. 
He had been overseer for Elbertson for several 
years, and while there, managed to save seven 
hundred dollars, which he paid down, the cash 
required in purchasing his farm. Since then, he 
has been paying off the mortgage that remained on 
the property, and but for the burning of his barn, 
might have prevented a result that has been so 
disastrous to himself But it's an ill wind that blows 
nobody any good. In every loss somebody gains ; 
and the turn of the die has been in your favor this 
time." 

Mr. Bolton did not appear to feel as much satis- 



136 THE NEW PLEASURE. 

faction at this view of the case as the broker antici- 
pated ; and seeing this, he changed the subject by 
asking some questions about the consummation of 
the sale under the mortgage. 

" I'll see about that to-morrow," said Mr. Bolton. 

" Yery well," was replied. 

After some more conversation, Mr. Bolton left the 
office of his agent. 

For years Farmer Gray had been toiling, late and 
early, to become the full owner of his beautiful farm. 
Its value had much increased since it had come into 
his possession, and he looked forward with pleasure to 
the time when it would be his own beyond all doubt. 
But the loss of an entire year's crop, through the 
burning of his barn, deeply tried and dispirited him. 
From this grievous disappointment his S23irits were 
beginning to rise, when the sudden foreclosure of the 
mortgage and hurried sale of the farm dashed his 
hopes to the earth. 

"Who the real purchaser of the farm was, Mr. Gray 
did not know, for the broker had bought in his own 
name. So bewildered was the farmer by the suddenly- 
occurring disaster, that for several days subsequent to 
the sale he remained almost totally paralyzed in mind. 
No plans were laid for the future, nor even those or- 
dinary steps for the present taken that common pru- 
dence would suggest. He wandered about the farm, 
or sat at home, dreamily musing upon what seemed 



THE NEW PLEASURE. 137 

the utter ruin of all his best hopes in life. While 
in this state, he was surprised by a visit from Mr. 
Bolton. The old gentleman, in taking him by the 
hand, said, 

" What's the matter, my friend ? You appear to be 
in trouble." 

"And I am in trouble," was unhesitatingly an- 
swered. 

" I^ot so deep but that you may get out again, I 
hope?" 

Mr. Gray shook his head in a desponding way. 

" What is the trouble ?" Mr. Bolton inquired. 

" I have lost my farm." 

« O, no !" 

" It is too true. It has been sold for a mortgage 
of fifteen hundred dollars. Though I have already 
paid more than that sum on account of the purchase, 
it only brought enough to pay the incumbrance, and 
I am ruined." 

The farmer was deeply disturbed, and Mr. Bolton's 
feelings were much interested. 

" Don't be so troubled, my good friend," said the 
old gentleman. " You rendered me service in time 
of need, and it is now in my power to return it. The 
farm is still yours. I hold the mortgage ; and you 
need not fear another foreclosure." 

Some moments passed after this announcement be- 
fore Mr. Gray's mind became clear, and his entire 



138 THE NEW PLEASURE. 

self-possession returned. Then, grasping the hand of 
Mr. Bolton, he thanked him with all the eloquence a 
grateful heart inspires. It was the happiest moment 
the old merchant had seen for years. Tlie mere pos- 
session of a thousand or two of dollars seemed as 
nothing to the pleasure he felt at having performed a 
good action, or, rather, at having refrained from doing 
an evil one. 

As he rode back to the city, reflecting on what he 
had done, and recalling the delight shown by Mr. 
Gray and his kind partner, who had attended him so 
carefully while he lay a sufferer beneath their roof, 
his heart swelled in his bosom with a new and happy 
emotion. 

Having once permitted himself to regard another 
with an unselfish interest, that interest continued. It 
seemed as if he could not do enough for the farmer 
in the way of aiding him to develop the resources of 
his little property. In this he did not merely stop at 
suggestions, but tendered something more substantial 
and available. 'Nor did the feelings awakened in his 
mind run all in this direction. Occasions enough 
offered for him to be generous to others, and to re- 
frain from oppression for the sake of gain. Many of 
these were embraced; and Mr. Bolton, in relating 
the fact that it is sometimes more blessed to give than 
to receive, found in the latter years of his life "A 'Nww 
Pleasure" — the pleasure of benevolence. 



LOVE-FEAST AMONG PEOPLE OF COLOR. 



A LOVE-FEAST AMONG PEOPLE OF COLOR. 



Twenty-two years since it was our privilege to 
take a sanitary stroll. South, through some of the 
Northern slave states, as we will call them, and as it 
was always agreeable to us to study the habits, sus- 
ceptibilities, and peculiarities of the negro in slav- 
ery, we found ourselves favored with an opportunity 
here, of seeing him, in what might be called the 
mildest and blandest form of oppression. He was 
privileged, here, to assemble in his own house of 
worship, provided some white persons were always 
present. He was privileged to conduct his own 
woi-ship, to preach, etc. Learning, one pleasant 
Sabbath morning — it was in autumn-time, and the 
forests were brown with beauty, squirrels chirruped 
from every tree, and the sun had a mellow glory, 
especially for the occasion — that the brethren of 
color, in a rude, but not micommodious meeting- 
house of logs, not far distant, were going to hold 
their quarterly love-feast, we resolved immediately 



142 A LOVE-FEAST AMONG 

on attendance. As we were but a looker-on in 
Yenice, and had obstinately refused all work for the 
day, we sought the presence of the white official who 
was to be in attendance, who gave us a very cordial 
welcome to accompany him. "With him, the thing 
was neither new nor strange, and he seemed to 
wonder a little at the enthusiasm which we mani- 
fested in the matter. But here, if anywhere, the 
colored man's religious emotions can be studied, and 
the few central ideas around which his faith and 
hope revolve, detected. Our brother desired us to 
open the meeting, a point, again, in which we were 
triumphant in our resistance. We availing ourself 
the meantime of the occasion, to suggest that we 
should be most happy to see this distinguished part of 
the service conferred upon some one of the children 
of Ham. Our suggestion took, and as if in gratifi- 
cation of our curiosity, the preacher of ebony was 
commissioned to the task. Tlie house was densely 
crowded. "Windows were opened for ventilation, 
and those who could not get in, flocked to them 
like doves to their windows. The official was a tall, 
athletic man, seemingly with deep piety, and possess- 
ing, for his class, an unusual sense of propriety. 
He arose, gave out from memory a few verses of an 
appropriate hymn, which was followed by a prayer, 
homogeneous with what followed. He then arose, 
and observed : 



PEOPLE OF COLOK. 143 

" Bruddreii, we hab come togedder for a lub-feast. 
We ought to lub each odder at all times, an' I trust 
we does, but den we wants feasts of lub now an' 
den." 

Up to this point, things had proceeded very 
gravely, but the quaintness and appropriateness of 
the old man's remark, w^as a spark among tinder. 
He proceeded : 

'•We doesn't want to eat just alike ebery time, but 
dere am times when ebery once in a while we wants 
a feast. Now, did we feast all de time, it would be 
no feast, an' yet, as I w^as sayin' afore, we always lub 
good eatin' an' drinkin'. ISTow, in de service ob de 
good Lord, dere be always good eatin' an' drinkin', an' 
now an' den a feast. Bless de Lord! But I's not 
gwine to 'scuss de matter here dis mornin'. I tink 
we had better commence feastin', an' now, Brudder 
E., an' Brudder G. ober yonder, take dis bread an' 
water, an' waits on de sisters. An' you, Brudder 
Gumbo, an' you ober yonder, Brudder Sambo, take 
dis bread an' water, an' pass it to de brudders." 
The order was promptly obeyed, and a hymn struck 
up, sung by everybody wdth great gusto. 

" Lift your hearts, Immanuel's friends, 
And taste the pleasures Jesus sends; 
Let nothing cause you to delay, 
But hasten on tlie good old way." 

We noticed, that with a delicate sense of pro- 



144 A LOVE-FEAST AMONG 

priety, the few white persons in the house received 
the first tender of the bread and water. The spirit 
of the meeting began to take hold of us, and we 
never partook of the symbols of brotherly love at 
a love-feast with more pleasm'e. This part of the 
service dispatched, the ruling official proceeded. 
" iJ^ow, bruddren, a chance is given for all ob us to 
speak ob de doings ob de Lord wid our poor souls. 
I won't speak now. I may do so arter a while. I 
wants to hear from all o' ye. I gives ye, den, de 
chance. Speak for de Lord, for he 'spect us to 
'knowledge him afore men." At this point, he 
resumed his seat, when a very aged man, whose 
hair was almost as white as wool, whom we had 
quite overlooked, arose in the corner of the building. 
He arose slowly, and stood tremulous with emotions 
apparently too deep for words. Every eye was 
upon him, for he was the patriarch of the slave 
population in that neighborhood. 

Silence relieved itself in these words: "Bless de 
Lord, O my soul. I's been sixty years in dis good 
old way.' 'Most home now." And here the tears 
started. "Yes, Uncle Jake 'most home. I sees 
little wid dese eyes," putting his hand up to his 
face, "but sees wid de eye ob faith de odder shore." 
This was followed with a general response of Glory. 
" Yes, Uncle Jake 'most home," (for so he was call- 
ed.) And here, his worn and venerable counte- 



PEOPLE oi' COLOK. 145 

nance brightening in the gleams of heaven and 
immortality, he resumed his seat. The spectacle 
was so saintly and imposing, that we have not for- 
gotten till this day the thrill it gave ns. The verse 
was struck up : 

" O, tell me no more 

Of this world's vain store *, 
The time for such trifles with me now is o'er. 

A country I've found, 

"VYhere true joys abound; 
To dwell I'm determined on that happy ground." 

Next, a sister arose, large and burly, but had, evi- 
dently, from the tone of her conversation, seen 
many years, and endured many hardships. " Brud- 
dren, I feels dis mornin' like Uncle Jake yonder, 
who I's known dis forty year, dat I 'most home. I 
lubs my Jesus. I feel he lubs me too. I always 
'spects to lub him. I shall see him soon. Yes, see 
him soon, Halleluiah!" "Glory" arose from all 
parts of the house. "As I was comin' in to dis 
lub-feast dis mornin', arter gettin' up mighty early 
to get ready to come, to get de work of massa an' 
missus all did up, I axed myself dis question, ^ "What 
good it do Aunt Lizza?' Now, I verily believe dat 
Satan put dat ar bery auestion in my mind. Who 
eber went to lub-feast, and it did 'em no good? 
Why, as Uncle Frank, yonder, tell us in de begin- 
nin', dis be a feast. For many long years I's feasted 



146 A LOVE-FEAST AMONG 

here. Glory to God, I 'spect soon to feast up yon- 
der ! Glory to God, I 'most liome !" She resumed 
her seat, and the verse struck up, 

•"Mid scenes of confusion and creature complaints, 
How sweet to my soul is communion with saints ; 
To find at the banquet of mercy there's room, 
And feel in the presence of Jesus at home. 

Home, home, sweet, sweet home! 
Prepare me, dear Saviour, for glory, my home." 

Up to this point, it was evident that Uncle Jake 
had given the key-note to the style of speaking. 
Next, a young sister arose. ''I come to dis lub- 
feast wid a bery heavy heart. I didn't mean to 
speak, but I can't set still any longer. I's afraid 
dat I's mightily backslid. I's had such a heap to 
do, dat I keep puttin' off prayer, an' night would 
come, an' I so tired, dat I thought no harm not to 
pray. I's afraid I's backsliden. / does wish I had 
'Hfiore time to jpray^ an' get to meetin's. O, bruddren, 
pray for me. I tink I feels a little better." Here 
the sympathies of the whole audience seemed to 
embrace at once the penitent victim, and her soul 
was manifestly struggling into liberty. Shouts and 
words of encouragement reached her from all parts 
of the house, when the big tear began to roll out of 
enormous eyes, and the speaker proceeded. " Yes, 
I's feeling better. Glory to Jesus ! Glory to Jesus ; 
He forgives. I's feelin' better!" and at this point 



PEOPLE OF COLOR. 147 

she commenced jumping, and in the glorious confu- 
sion that followed, we could make out nothing, but 
now and then the shout, "I's feelin' better ! Glory- 
to Jesus, he forgives !'' 

'•Awake, my soul, in joyful lays, 
And sing the great Redeemer's praise ; 
He justly claims a song from me — 
His loving-kindness, 0, how free ! 

" He saw me ruin'd by the fall, 
Yet loved me, notwithstanding all ; 
He saved me from my lost estate — 
His loving-kindness, 0, how great!" 

The shouting and the jumping still continued in 
the direction where the last sister had spoken, and the 
singing prolonged, the most of this hymn being sung 
at the top of a hundred voices : 

" Our bondage here shall end 

By and by — by and by ; 
Our griefs shall vanish then, 
With our three-score years and ten, 
And bright glory crown the day, 

By and by — by and by." 

After a little luU, and an attempt by Uncle Frank 

to divert the speaking to that end of the room, a white 

brother arose. After stating in substance that he was 

always happy to meet with his colored friends, and 

that he hoped to meet them all in heaven, where the 

distinction of color would cease, he resumed his seat. 

10 



148 A LOVE-FEAST AMONG 

A faint response of "God bless you, Massa Jones," 
was all we heard in reply. "Massa Jones" was a 
small, sallow man, eyebrows very low, and eyes gray 
and small ; between them there seemed to be a kind 
of a gnarl or a knot; his month was round and 
puckering. 

Order was now nearly restored, when another 
person rose, who will be readily recognized by all 
observers of the negro character. She was a large 
woman, features not very irregular nor black, but 
looking sleek and shining brown, well formed, tem- 
perament of the highest class for the colored, full of 
spunk, and possessing a very fluent use of the tongue. 
She was evidently a little vain of her qualifications ; 
and others of her class about the neighborhood might 
have reason to be proud of her, if it were not that her 
love of talk perpetually impelled her to look up some- 
thing to talk about. It became very convenient for 
her to deal in inventions. Among white people, it 
would have been said of her. Somewhat given to 
tattling. She also was a specimen of one of those 
moralists among our people of color who bring them- 
selves to believe that there can be no crime in their 
petty thefts ; that what their master has they earned, 
and if he does not supply them they have a right to 
supply themselves. She would go to meeting and 
shout, and if in the evening, take a poultry-yard into 
her way home. In the place of that moonlight dull- 



PEOPLE OF COLOR. 149 

ness in her eye, there was the glassy brightness of 
cunning. The chains of slavery lay hard on such 
limbs. Our heroine, whom we have described, and 
whom we hope does not practice upon the principles 
of ethics which we have introduced, now arose, with 
a nondescript bonnet full of yellow ribbons and flow- 
ers. She w^as a captain among them, and every eye 
and ear seemed intent on listening. 

" Brudders, I's here dis mornin' case I likes to be 
in jist such places. I's not one ob dem dat would 
neglect a feast. Many years ago God convart my 
poor, blind soul. It war way down in ole Yirginny. 
I neber forgets de time nor de place. I finds out I's 
a miserable sinner, an' dat Jesus save by him grace 
all dat come unto him, wheder brack or white. I 
tinks to myself, if dere be any chance for me, now 
am de time. I prayed mightily. I thought once I 
should go down to hell, I felt I war so bery bad ; an' 
one night, when comin' in from the milkin', I feel so 
bad dat I spill 'bout half de milk. I gets down be- 
hind a big tree, an' dere I ask my Jesus if he meant 
to save me if I would be saved. I axed him, cryin' 
as if dis heart would bust. I kept a axin' him, when 
all at once a voice say to me, ' Yes !' A voice came 
right down dat tree, an' say to me, 'All my promises 
are Yea an' Amen, to ebery one dat believe.' O dat 
lubly voice ! Brudders, I hears dat voice dis mornin'. 
It war de voice ob deliberance ; it war sweet to me 



150 A LOVE-FEAST AMONG * 

as de honey. I still hears dat voice ebery night. I 
knows my Redeemer lives ! Halleluiah !" 

Here the audience had been wrought up again to 
an intense point of feeling, and "Glory!" ^' Glory!" 
spread electrically all over the house. After jumping 
three or four times about a foot and a half from the 
floor, our speaker relapsed into a somewhat graver 
tone, and resumed : 

" I knows I ain't as good as I ort to be, and some 
ob you knows it too. I intends to be better. By de 
glory ob God an' de grace ob God, I intends to be 
better. I feel like 'ginning anew, Uncle Jake ;" and 
here the old man of the corner threw up his face with 
a saintly smile. " I intends to meet you all in heb- 
ben. I's got a little gal baby dere, and a little boy 
baby. O, I sees 'em ! Why, look, dey walk away 
up yonder dere among de stars ! Let us go up an' 
see dem !" 

Here she resumed her seat, and the hymn was 
struck up : 

" O, take me from this world of woe, 

To my sweet home above, 
Where tears of sorrow never flow, 

And all the air is love. 
My sister spirits wait for me, 

And Jesus bids me come : 
O, steer my bark to that bright land, 

For Eden is my home." 



• PEOPLE OF COLOR. 151 

After some more speaking, of whicli we shall give 
no more details, the love-feast was brought orderly to 
a close. Two impressions rested vividly upon our 
mind : that among a people unlettered and ignorant, 
the highly emotional in religion is just as indispens- 
able for the purposes of their conversion as is the 
more intellectual among the educated and refined; 
and that any extravagances which we might see in 
such meetings as these, no matter of what color, such 
extravagances are order. Our second conclusion is : 
the creed by which the sinner may get to heaven is a 
very brief one. It is simply for him to feel the need 
of salvation ; to be told that the whole of salvation is 
implied in Jesus, and that 'if this be believed, the 
penitent is saved. We will name another impression 
made upon our mind by witnessing this primitive 
love-feast among people of color. The colored. man 
perpetually feasts himself on visions of heaven. He 
is always speaking of getting home by and by. He 
is always singing, 

" I have a home in glory." 

These things flow in his prayers, form the climax of 
his speeches, the theme of his poetry, and flow forth, 
in melli^uous beauty, in that rich form of song, those 
individualisms of music, which so strongly mark the 
negro character. 



THE 



UIMEAIT REBUKE 



By SYLVANUS COBB. 



THE UNMEANT REBUKE. 



Charles IjTelson had reached his thii*ty-fifth year, 
and at that age he found hijnself going down hill. 
He had once been one of the happiest of mortals, and 
no blessing was wanting to complete the sum of his 
happiness. He had one of the best of wives, and his 
children were intelligent and comely. He was a 
carpenter by trade, and no man could command 
better wages, or be more sure of work. If any man 
attempted to build a house, Charles ]N"elson must boss 
the job, and for miles around, people sought him to 
work for them. But a change had come over his life. 
A demon had met him on his way, and he turned back 
with the evil spirit. A new, experienced carpenter 
had been sent for by those who could no longer 
depend upon ISTelson, and he had settled in the 
village, and now took ISTelson's place. 

On a back street, where the great trees threw 
their green branches over the w^ay, stood a small 
cottage, which had once been the pride of its 



156 THE UNMEANT REBUKE. 

inmates. Before it stretched a wide garden, but tall, 
rank grass grew np among the choking flowers, 
and the paling of the fence was broken in many 
places. The house itself had once been white, but 
it was now dingy and dark. Bright green blinds 
had once adorned the windows, but now they had 
been taken off and sold. And the windows 
themselves bespoke poverty and neglect, for in 
many places the glass was gone, and shingles, rags, 
and old hats had taken its place. A single look 
at the house, and its accompaniments, told the story. 
It was the drunkard's home. 

Within sat a woman yet in the early years of 
life ; though she was still handsome to look upon, 
the bloom was gone from her cheek, and the bright- 
ness had faded from her eyes. Poor Mary Nelson ! 
Once she had been the happiest among the happy, 
but now none could be more miserable. l^ear 
her sat two children, both girls, and both beautiful 
in form and feature ; but their garbs were all patched 
and worn, and their feet were shoeless. The eldest 
was thirteen years of age, and the other two years 
younger. The mother was teaching them to recite a 
grammar lesson, for she had resolved that her 
children should not grow up in ignorance. They 
could not attend the common schools, for thoughtless 
children sneered at them, and made them the subject 
of sport and ridicule ; but in this respect they did not 



THE UNMEANT REBUKE. 157 

suffer, for tlieir mother was well educated, and she 
devoted such time as she could spare to their in- 
struction. 

For more than two years Marj IN^elson had earned 
all the money that had been earned in the house. 
People had hired her to wash, iron, and sew for 
them, and besides the money paid, they gave her 
many articles of food and clothing. So she lived 
on, and the only joys that dwelt with her now, were 
teaching her children, and praying to God. 

Supper-time came, and Charles JSTelson came 
reeling home. He had worked the day before at 
helping to move a building, and thus had earned 
money enough to find himself in rum for several 
days. As he stumbled into the house, the children 
crouched close to the mother, and even she shrank 
away, for sometimes her husband was dangerous 
when thus intoxicated. 

O, how that man had changed within two years ! 
Once there was not a finer looking man in town. In 
frame he had been tall, stout, compact, and perfectly 
formed, while his face bore the very beau-ideal of 
manly beauty. But all was changed now. His 
noble form was bent, his limbs shrunken and tremu- 
lous, his face all bloated and disfigured. He was 
not the man he had once been, the fond husband 
and doting father. The loving wife had prayed, and 
wept, and implored, but all to no purpose ; the hus- 



158 THE UNMEANT EEBUKE. 

band was bound to the drinking companions of the 
bar-room, and lie would not break the bonds. 

That evening Mary JSTelson ate no supper, for all 
the food she had in the house, there was not more 
than enough for her husband and children ; but 
when her husband had gone she went and picked a 
few berries, and thus kept her vital energy alive. 
That night the poor woman prayed long and earn- 
estly, and her little ones prayed with her. 

On the following morning Charles JSTelson sought 
the bar-room as soon as he rose, but he was sick and 
faint, and liquor would not revive him, for it would 
not remain in his stomach. He had drunk very 
deeply the night before, and he felt miserable. At 
length, however, he managed to keep down a few 
glasses of hot-sling, but the close atmosphere of the 
bar-room seemed to stifle him, and he went out. 

The poor man had sense enough to know that if 
he could sleep he would feel better, and he had just 
feeling enough to wish to keep away from home ; so 
he wandered off toward a wood not far from the 
village, and was soon buried in a profound slumber. 
When he awoke, the sun was shining down hot upon 
him, and raising himself to a sitting posture, he 
gazed about him. He knew that it was afternoon, 
for the sun was turning toward the west. He was 
just upon the point of rising, when his motion was 
arrested by the sound of voices near at hand. He 



THE UNMEANT REBUKE. 159 

looked through a clink in the wall, and just upon the 
side he saw his two children picking berries, while 
further off were two more girls, the children of the 
carpenter who had lately moved to the village. 

" Come, Kat}^," said one of these latter girls to 
her companion, " let's go away from here, because 
if anybody should see us with those girls they'd 
think we played with 'em ; come." 

" But the berries are thick here," remonstrated the 
other. 

" Kever mind ; we'll come some time when those 
little ragged drunkard's girls aren't here." 

So the two favored ones went away hand in hand, 
and ^Nelly and ISTancy sat down upon the grass and 
cried. 

" Don't cry, ITancy," said the eldest, throwing her 
arms around her sister's neck. 

" But you are crying, Nelly." 

" O, I can't help it," sobbed the stricken one. 

" Why do they blame us ?" murmured IS'ancy, 
gazing up to her sister's face. " O, we are not to 
blame. We are good, and kind, and loving, and 
we never hurt anybody. O, I wish somebody would 
love us ; I should be so happy." 

" But we are loved, JSTancy. Only think of our 
mother. Who could love us as she does ?" 

"I know, I know, ISTelly ; but that isn't all. Why 
don't papa love us as he used to do ? Don't you 



160 THE UNMEANT REBUKE. 

remember when lie used to kiss us and make us 
happy? O, how I wish he could be so good for us 
once more. He is not — " 

" Hush, sissy ! don't say anything more. He may 
be good to us again ; if he knew how we loved him, 
I know he would. And then I believe God is good, 
and surely he will help us some time." 

" Yes," answered iNTancy, " I know he does ; and 
God must be our father some time." 

" He is our father now, sissy." 

"I know it; but he must be all we shall have 
by and by, for don't you remember that mother told 
us that she must leave us one of these days ? Shu 
said a cold finger was upon her heart, and, and — " 

" Hush, sissy ! Don't, don't, ISTancy ; you'll — " 

The words were choked up with sobs and tears 
and the sisters wept long together. At length they 
arose and went away, for they saw more children 
coming. 

As soon as the little ones were out of sight, Charles 
E'elson started to his feet. His hands were clinched, 
and his eyes were fixed upon a vacant point with an 
eager gaze. 

" My God !" he gasped, " what a villain I am ! 
Look at me now ! What a state I am in, and what 
I have sacrificed to bring myself to it ! And they 
love me yet, and pray for me ?" 

He said no more, but for some moments he stood 



THE UNMEANT REBUKE. 161 

with his hands still clinched and eyes fixed. At 
length his gaze was turned, and his clasped hands 
were raised above his head. A moment he remain- 
ed so, and then his hands dropped by his side and 
he started homeward. 

"When he reached his home he found his wife and 
children in tears, but he affected not to notice it. 
He drew a shilling from his pocket — it was his last — 
and handing it to his wife, he asked her if she would 
send and get some milk and flour, and make him 
some porridge. The wife was startled by the 
strange tone in which this was spoken, for it sound- 
ed just as that voice had sounded in days gone by. 

The porridge was made nice and nourishing, and 
Charles ate it all. He went to bed early, and early 
on the following morning he was up. He asked his 
wife if she had milk and flour enough to make him 
another bowl of porridge. 

" Yes, Charles," she said. '' We have not touched 
it." 

" Then, if you are willing, I should like some 
more." 

The wife moved quickly about the work, and 
ere long the food was prepared. The husband ate 
it, and he felt better. He washed and dressed, 
and would have shaved had his hand been steady 
enough. He left his home, and went at once to 
a man who had just commenced to frame a house 



162 THE UNMEANT REBUKE. 

" Mr. Manley," he said, addressing the gentle- 
man alluded to, " I have drank the last glass of 
alcoholic beverage that ever passes my lips. Ask 
me no more questions, but believe me now while 
you see me true. Will you give me work?" 

" Charles JS^elson, are you in earnest ?" asked 
Manley, in surprise. 

" So much so, sir, that were death to stand upon 
my right hand, and yonder bar-room upon my left, 
I would go with the grim messenger first." 

" Then here is my house lying about us in 
rough timber and boards. I place it all in your 
hands, and shall look to you to finish it. "While 
I can trust you, you may trust me. Come into 
my office, and you shall have the plan I have 
drawn." 

We will not tell you how that stout man wept, 
and how his noble friend shed tears to see him 
thus; but Charles Nelson took the plan, and hav 
ing studied it for a while, he went out where the 
men were at work getting the timber together, 
and Mr, Manley introduced him as their master. 
That day he worked but little, for he was not 
strong yet, but he arranged the timber, and gave 
directions for framing. At night he asked his 
employer if he dared to trust him with a dollar. 

" Why, you have earned three," returned Manley. 

"And will you pay me three dollars a day?" 



THE UKMEANT REBUKE. 163 

" If you are as faithful as you have been to-day, 
for you will save me money at that." 

The poor man could not speak his thanks in 
words, but looks spoke for him, and Manley un- 
derstood them. He received his three dollars, 
and on his way home he stopped and bought, first, 
a basket, then three loaves of bread, a pound of 
butter, some tea, sugar, and a piece of beefsteak. 
He had just one dollar and seventy-five cents left. 
With this load he went home. It was some time 
before he could compose himself to enter the house, 
but at length he went in and set the basket on the 
table. 

" Come, Mary," he said, " I have brought some- 
thing home for supper. Here, Kelly, you take the 
pail, and run over to Mr. Brown's and get a couple 
of quarts of milk." 

He handed her a shilling as he spoke, and in 
a half-bewildered state she took the money and 
huiTied away. 

The wife started when she raised the cover of 
the basket, but she dared not speak. She moved 
about like one in a dream, and ever and anon 
she would cast a furtive glance at her husband 
He had not been drinking — she knew it — and yet 
he had money to buy rum with if he wanted it. 
What could it mean ? O, how fervently she prayed 
then 

n 



164 THE UNMEANT REBUKE. 

Soon 'Nellj returned with the milkj and Mrs. 
Kelson set the table out. After supper Charles 
arose, and said to his wife: 

"I must go up to Mr. Manley's office to help 
him to arrange some plans for his new house, but 
I will be home early." 

A pang shot through the wife's heart, as she 
saw her husband turn away, but still she was far 
happier than she had been before for a long while. 
There was something in his manner that assured 
her and gave her hope. 

Just as the clock struck nine, the well-known 
footfall was heard, strong and steady. The door 
opened, and Charles entered. His wife cast a quick, 
keen glance into his face, and she almost uttered 
a cry of joy when she saw he was changed for the 
better. He had been to the barber's and the 
hatter's. Yet nothing was said on the all-import- 
ant subject. Charles wished to retire early, and 
his wife went with him. In the morning the hus- 
band arose first and built a fire. Mary had not 
slept till long after midnight, having been kept 
awake by tumultuous emotions, that had started 
up in her bosom, and hence she awoke not so 
early as usual. But she came out just as the tea- 
kettle and potatoes began to boil, and breakfast was 
Boon ready. 

After the meal was eaten, Charles arose and 



THE UNMEANT REBUKE. 165 

put on his hat, and then turning to his wife, he 
asked ; 

" What do you do to-day ?" 

"I must wash for Mrs. Bixby." 

" Are you willing to obey me once more ?" 

" O, yes." 

"Then work for me to-day. Send Kelly over to 
tell Mrs. Bixby that you are not well enough to 
wash, for you are not. Here is a dollar, and you 
must do with it as you please. Buy something 
that will keep you busy for yourself and children." 

Mr. Nelson turned toward the door, and his 
hand was upon the latch. He did not speak, but 
opened his arms, and his wife sank upon his bosom. 
He kissed her, and then having gently placed her 
in a seat, he left the house. When he went to his 
work that morning he felt well, and very happy. 

Mr. Manley was by to cheer him, and this he did 
by talking and acting as though Charles had never 
been unfortunate at all. 

It was Saturday evening, and Nelson had been 
a week without rum. He had earned fifteen dollars, 
ten of which he had now in his pocket. 

" Mary," he said, after the supper table had been 
cleared away, " here are ten dollars for you, and I 
want you to expend them in clothing for yourself 
and children. I have earned fifteen dollars during the 
last five days. I am to build Squire Manley's great 



166 THE UNMEANT REBUKE. 

house, and he pays me three dollars a day. A good 
job, isn't it?" 

Mary looked up, and her lips moved, but she could 
not speak a word. She struggled a few moments, and 
then burst into tears. Her husband took her by the 
arm, and drew her upon his lap, and then pressed her 
to his bosom. 

" Mary," he whispered, while the tears ran down 
his cheeks, "you are not deceived. I am Charley 
[N'elson once more, and while I live, not by any act 
of mine shall another cloud cross your brow." And 
then he told her what he heard on the previous 
Monday, while he lay behind the wall. 

" l^ever before," he said, " did I fully realize how 
low I had fallen ; but the scales dropped from my 
eyes then as though some one had struck them oif 
with a sledge. My soul started up to a standing- 
point, from which all the tempters of earth cannot 
move it. Your prayers are answered, my wife." 

Time passed on, and the cottage once more as- 
sumed its garb of pure white, and its whole windows 
and green blinds. The roses in the garden smiled ; 
and in every way did the improvement work. Once 
again was Mary !N^elson among the happiest of the 
happy; and their children choose their own associ- 
ates now. 



THE 



UI¥ELCOME PREACHER. 



BY THE EDITOR OF THE HOME CIRCLE. 



THE UNWELCOME PREACHER. 



In the fall of 1823, the Methodists of a certain town 
in Kentucky concluded that they were able, though 
but twenty- two in number, to support a preacher by 
themselves. Accordingly, they wrote to the confer- 
ence, requesting the bishop to make a station of their 
village. But, considering their want of numerical 
and financial strength, it was deemed all-important 
that the minister sent them should be a man of pop- 
ular talents, because, unless he could command the 
admiration and conciliate the favor of the people, 
there was danger of failing to support him. 

They therefore asked for a Brother Johnson, at that 
time one of the most popular and effective ministers 
in the state ; and made the getting of that particular 
man the condition upon which they wished to be- 
come a station. To them it was clear that the des- 
tinies of Methodism, if not of Christianity itself, in 
that particular region, depended upon their having 
the man they wanted that very year. It was thought 



170 THE UNWELCOME PREACHER. 

advisable, however, to station Brother Johnson else- 
where. 

There was in the conference at the time, a young 
man who had just been received into full connection, 
without experience or reputation as a preacher, and 
by nature singularly disqualified for any position 
where his sensibilities were likely to be tried. Ten- 
der hearted and addicted to gloom, exposure to rude 
treatment, or, what would be worse, a cold reception 
from those to whom he might be sent, would dis 
hearten him at once. Some such treatment most 
probably awaited any man, save Brother Johnson, 
who might be sent to the town of which we speaii ; 
yet this young man was selected to go. Fortunately, 
however, the bishop was to accompany him. 

It is known to as many as were acquainted with 
Bishop George, that his most noticeable characteristic 
was prayerfulness. The frequency, fervor, and sin- 
gular power with which he addressed the throne of 
grace, are mentioned as often as a reminiscence of 
him is made. During their journey of two hundred 
miles on horseback, the young preacher had abund- 
ant opportunity to observe and imbibe the spirit of 
this excellent man. Whenever they stopped for meals, 
rest, lodging, or to see and encourage some pious fam- 
ily, whose residence by the way was known to them, 
they had a season of prayer. 

"When about twelve miles from the place of the 



THE UNWELCOME PREACHER. 171 

young man's destination, at the house of a Brother S., 
the bishop was attacked with asthma, a disease to 
which he was very liable. The remedies which usu- 
ally relieved him were tried without effect ; the man 
of God got no better. At length he sent for the 
young preacher, and directing his attention to the 
sublime description of the new Jerusalem, contained 
in the book of Revelation, desired him to take his 
Bible into the grove, meditate upon that passage for 
a season, and then come in and preach to him about 
it ; " For," said he, " I want to be happy. If my 
soul were powerfully blessed, I think it would cure 
my body." 

The young man,' ever distrustful of his own powers, 
was alarmed at the idea. He begged to be excused ; 
and, prompted as much, perhaps, by fear as by faith, 
recommended to the bishop his never-failing expedi- 
ent for " getting happy" — prayer. 

" Well," said the sick man, " go out, my son, and 
shut the door ; let me be left alone." 

His wish was complied with. In another moment 
he was composing his mind to its favorite employ- 
ment : Elijah, wrapped in the. mantle of prayer, was 
alone with God. 

For a moment all was silent; but at length loud 
and repeated praises issued from the sick-room. The 
family gathered round to rejoice with the man of 
prayer ; and the immediate effect of the excitement 



172 THE UNWELCOME PREACHER. 

was a cure of the malady so effectual that the travel- 
ers proceeded on their journey in the morning. 

But before they started, the good brother with 
whom they were sojourning, broke to the unsuspect- 
ing young preacher the shocking intelligence, already 
in the reader's possession, that he would be an un- 
welcome arrival in the place of his appointment. 
Of course, he was sunk at once in the deepest 
dejection. Possessed with keen perceptions of the 
painful, nervously sensitive to any unkindness, he 
was the very man to be overwhelmed in such a 
situation. Personal danger, trial, toil, would not 
have daunted him, but to be coldly pushed off as 
not welcome, to feel that he was imposed upon a 
people who did not want him, was what he could 
not bear. Instantly resolving, therefore, not to 
submit to such a mortification, he hastened to com- 
municate his \discovery and his purpose to the 
superintendent. The bishop, aware of the feeling 
of revolt with which his protege was liable to be 
met, exhorted him, nevertheless, to determine upon 
nothing rashly; to wait till he saw the place and 
the people, and, in the meanwhile, give himself to 
prayer; adding, that he had felt persuaded all the 
while that the appointment was "right," and in 
the end would prove providential. This advice was 
reluctantly taken. 

Arrived at the new station, they were guests of a 



THE UNWELCOME PREACHER. 173 

prominent n^.ember of tlie Church, known for many 
years afterward as the usual host and friend of the 
preachers. The next morning, as the bishop was 
preparing to pursue his journey, he and the good 
brotlier of the house were conversing together in the 
parlor, while, unknown to them, and without design, 
the young preacher was sitting on the porch near the 
window, with nothing but a thin curtain between 
him and them ; so that what passed within was dis- 
tinctly audible to him. 

" "Well, brother," said the bishop, " how will the 
young man do ?" 

^']^ot at all; he will not do at all, sir; we might 
as well be left without a preacher altogether," was 
the emphatic reply. 

" O, I hope you wiU like him better after a while," 
replied the old man. " Treat him kindly, and I am 
persuaded he will do you good." 

" I have no objection," retm*ned the host, " to his 
staying at my house for a few weeks, if you desire 
it, but it will be useless; he is not the one we 
wanted." 

The poor young man could bear no more; he 
crept from the porch almost blind with mortifica- 
tion. Tlie thought that he was to remain with a 
people who considered hira a tolerated burden ; that 
every mouthful he ate was to be a charity; that he 
was to be a young, healthy mendicant, sickened him I 



174 THE UNWELCOME PREACHEE. 

He was lying in wait as the bishop sallied forth, 
and drawing him to a spot where they were shelter- 
ed from observation, he burst into tears, exclaiming, 
" O, bishop, I cannot stay; I heard what passed in 
the room, and indeed yon must release me." 

" Can you get your horse and ride a little way 
with me ?" 

This he did with alacrity; glad of even an hour's 
respite from his painful position. 

After riding a few miles, they turned off into the 
woods, and dismounting by a fallen tree, engaged 
in solemn and importunate prayer; prayer for light 
and help in that dark and trying hour. Then, taking 
the hand of his companion, the bishop turned upon 
him a look of love, which none but a strong, stern 
heart can feel ; so deep and genuine was it, so full 
of serious concern and earnest sympathy. 

He concluded an address fraught with parental 
feeling and sound wisdom, with, "Now, my son, I 
will make you a proposition : see if you can fulfill 
the conditions of it : 

" Go back to town ; if you find a cross there, bear 
it; diligently and lovingly perform every part of 
your duty; ^do the work of an evangelist;' fast once 
a week, and spend one hour of each day in special 
prayer, that God may open your way in that com- 
munity ; do this for one month, and at the end of 
that term, if you do not feel willing to stay, consider 



THE UNWELCOME PREACHER. 175 

yourself released from the appointment. Can you 
do tills?" 

He thought he could: upon which they took an 
affectionate leave of each other, and Enoch George — 
what signifies a title to such a man ? — turned toward 
the southwest, and resumed his pilgrimage of hard- 
ships. The young man sat upon his horse watching 
the receding form till it sank out of sight below the 
horizon. ISTot until that moment had he fairly 
tasted the exquisite bitterness of his cup. The " man- 
angel," upon whom he had leaned, was gone, 
and he was left to grapple with his trial alone. He 
could have sobbed hke any boy. 

Faithfully did he comply with the conditions of 
his promise through all the tedious month, without 
discerning any material change in his own feelings 
or in the bearing of his people toward him ; albeit 
one wicked man and his wife had from the begin- 
ning endeavored to encourage him. 

Finally the last Sabbath arrived of the month 
during which he had promised to stay. The glad 
village bells were pealing their summons to the 
house of God, as our hero — was he not a hero? — arose 
from the struggle of the last covenanted hour of 
prayer. He walked toward the little attic window, 
which commanded a view of most of the streets, 
wiping his eyes and thinking of the few reluctant 
hearers who awaited him, when, lo ! what a sight 



176 THE UNWELCOME PKEACHER. 

met his gaze! Group after group of citizens were 
flocking toward the Methodist Church! At first a 
sense of awe came over him, and then a class of 
mingled feelings, as if confidence, and strength, and 
jo J were storming the heart, while fear, and weakness, 
and mortification still disputed the right of possession. 

He hastened to his pulpit, and as he arose from 
the first silent prayer, the thought of victory thrilled 
through him like the voice of a clarion. His text 
was Isaiah 6, iv : " And the posts of the door moved 
at the voice of him that cried." The attention of 
the audience was arrested by the announcement, for 
the voice that had been wont to tremble with 
embarrassment, now rang clear with a tone of 
authority; his eye, hitherto confused and unsteady, 
now kindled with " a light that never shined on sea 
or shore." Fresh from the chamber where he had 
just accomplished his thirteenth hour of special 
prayer, the live coal had touched his lips ; he was 
with a witness, " a man sent from God," and glori- 
ously baptized with the Holy Ghost. 

He referred his text back to the point at which 
Christ first interposed for man's salvation ; the voice 
that cried, " Lo ! I come to do thy will :" he applied 
it to the sacrificial ofi"ering of Jesus ; the voice that 
cried, "It is finished;" he carried forward the appli- 
cation to "the right hand of the Majesty on high," 
where the intercessor makes his dying words immor- 



THE UNWELCOME PREACHER. 177 

tal, crying with infinite iteration, "Father, forgive 
them ;" to the day when sound shall make its next 
impression upon " the dull cold ear of death ;" when 
at the " voice of the Son of God, the dead, small and 
great, shall rise." 

Tlie power of the Highest was manifestly upon 
the audience, and the presence of an embassador of 
Christ was attested by sobs and groans from every 
part of the house. The preacher descended from 
the pulpit Avithout pausing in his discourse, and 
invited to the place of prayer those who desired to 
flee the wrath to come. With loud cries for mercy, 
sinnei-s came streaming down the aisle, and before 
the congregation was dismissed seven souls professed 
to find peace in believing. 

When the meeting broke up, the pastor hastened 
back to his closet. Many a time had he entered it 
disheartened and sad, never before in triumph. He 
thought of good Bishop George, and his steady 
persuasion that the appointment was " right ;" of the 
fastings and prayers, all the way down to the last 
hour's experience ; and his faith in God, and in the 
efiicacy of prayer, then and there settled down into a 
substance upon which time has made no impression. 
Thirty-one years of toil and change have passed since 
that sweet Sabbath ; the vicissitudes of an itinerant's 
life have led him through heat and cold, by night 
and day, from one end of Kentucky to the other, till 



178 THE UNWELCOME PREACHER. 

" He is known to every star, 
And every wind that blows." 

Forms then unknown, afterward became dear as life, 
and then perished from his sight ; " sickness and 
sorrow, pain and death," have left their scars upon 
his form and heart, but nothing has ever shaken 
his confidence in the God that answers prayer. The 
memory of that bright morning is as fresh beneath 
his gray hairs as it was beneath his locks of jet. 
Like trampled chamomile, the virtues of his spirit 
took deeper root for being bruised, and shed a per- 
fume that has sweetened life's atmosphere ever ^ince. 

For four weeks very little else was attended to 
but the revival. Stores and shops were closed 
during the hours of worship, which occurred twice 
and often three times a day. At one of the meetings 
held in a private house, ( where the venerable John 
Littlejohn was present,) a call was made for those 
who wished to join the Church, and one hundred and 
eleven persons presented themselves for admission ! 

Thus the permanent establishment of Methodism 
in Russelville, Kentucky, was effected, under God, 
through the instrumentality of the "IlNWELcoiiE 
Preacher." 

It will doubtless add to the interest of the fore» 
going narrative for the reader to know, that the 
subject of it is now the worthy Book Agent of the 
Church, South, Eev. E. Stevenson, D. D. 



1 A R R Y I i\ Ct rich 



By Rev. W. B. SLAUGHTER. 



12 



MARRYING RICH. 



CHAPTER I. 



At the end of a pretty lane, along the sides of 
which thrifty maple-trees furnished a grateful shade 
during the warm summer months, stood the cottage 
of Farmer Barnwell. A beautiful lawn, skirted by 
shrubbery and dotted over with pyramid ever- 
greens, all tastefully arranged, spread out in front 
of the cottage. An open porch afforded an agree- 
able place to pass away a twilight hour. The doors 
and windows were decorated with the queen of the 
prairie, intermingled with jasmine and honeysuckle, 
whicli climbed together the trellis, and hung in 
graceful tresses in the air. Altogether, it was a 
lovely place, quiet and inviting. Within, the same 
taste that was evinced in the surrounding grounds, 
was displayed in the order and neatness that pre- 
vailed in every apartment. The farmer's good wife 
was a model of excellence, in her own proper sphere, 



182 MARRYING RICH. 

If you could have inspected the barns and yards, 
and the fields beyond, you would have found every- 
thing indicative of the same care, and order, and 
thrift. 

The farm was not large, and the farmer had per- 
formed most of the work himself. It v/as wonderful, 
the neighbors said, that he could accomplish so 
much. He never seemed in a hurry, yet he always 
was up with his work. Now the secret of this was, 
that he had learned how to practice the rule, "Every- 
thing in its time, and everything in its place." In 
the cold days of winter you might have found him 
in his little shop, mending rakes, and plows, and 
grain cradles, and other utensils of the farm. And 
then you might have observed, too, that each article 
was put away carefully where it was safe from all 
exposure. It was not so strange, after all, that the 
farm was productive, that Farmer Barnwell never 
was harassed in the summer-time with breaking 
tools, that his cattle did not die as other farmers' 
cattle did as the spring came on. It was not so 
strange, yet the people wondered at it all, and said 
that he was always "in luck," and so they went on 
in their own way. There was another thing they 
wondered at. Farmer Barnwell had a choice col- 
lection of books. Some of the best agricultural 
works were on his shelves, and he found time, not 
only to read them, but to study them. And then he 



MARRYING RICH. 183 

had managed to procure the best fruits, and the 
trees were carefully trimmed, and when the cold 
winter came on they were mulched, and thus they 
escaped the fate of other men's trees, and grew in 
beautiful thriftiness and tasteful forms. Many per- 
sons, it must be confessed, could not understand why 
his trees always lived through the hard winters, and 
why they always bent under a burden of delicious 
fruits. But so it was, they could not deny it, and so 
they reasoned that he was a "lucky fellow." And 
thus the years went on, one after another, and Farmer 
Barnwell was a man of forty-five at the time our 
story commences, and everybody said he was " well 
to do" in the world. He had not bought other lands, 
because he had enough; and he thought it was better 
to till the soil well and get grateful returns, than to 
skin its surface for scant products. 

And Farmer Barnwell had one son. He was now 
a man. Tlie father's thrift had enabled him to give 
him the advantages of a thorough education. He 
had but just returned from college, where he had 
graduated with honor. 

Charles Barnwell v/as a modest boy. His whole 
soul had been engrossed in the earnest toil after 
knowledge. He had studied as many do not study, 
because he loved the truth for its own sake. Tlie 
facts and principles of science he imbibed, as a 
thirsty man would drink water, to satisfy the cravings 



184 MARRYING RICH. 

of Ms mind. He liad graduated, but he tliouglit not 
once that his education was completed. He had in 
view no profession. 

The old homestead was associated with his most 
hallowed memories, and he had resolved to devote 
himself to the cultivation of the soil. He loved its 
rural quiet, its health-giving labor, and its invigorating 
exposure. He assured himself that he should here 
have an enlarged sphere of exploration after scien- 
tific truth. He thought the vocation of the husband- 
man more independent and truly noble, than any 
other. The intricacies and perplexities of a profess- 
ional life he never could endure. He was an enthu- 
siast in farming as much as an artist could be in his 
art. 

We have thus introduced the worthy family of 
Barnwell to our readers, and the beautiful place 
they called their home. If intelligence, industry, 
refined taste in rural embellishments, and thrift, 
constitute elements of happiness, the Barnwells were 
a happy family. And so they were. For to these 
elements we must add that they were a truly pious 
family. The old family Bible was well read. The 
altar of prayer was ever held sacred. And the 
library was well stored with excellent religious 
books. 

But the best of people have their weaknesses ; 
and good Mrs. Barnwell would have been a singular 



MARRYING RICH. 185 

lady indeed, if she had not any weak point. It 
was her misfortune to think too much of money. 
She had always been industrious, and prudent, and 
economical. All that was needed to educate her son 
she had most cheerfully appropriated for that pur- 
pose. In fact, she did not so much desire wealth for 
her own personal enjoyment as that she might 
bestow it upon him. She doted upon him as mothers 
only can dote, and with better reason than most 
mothers have, for he was truly noble and worthy. 
Perhaps, too, that rigid economy, which was neces- 
sary when they were poor, and which had become a 
habit while saving the means to educate Charles, had 
contributed to give her a higher notion of the value 
of wealth than she would otherwise have had. Now 
whatever may have been the origin of that feeling, it 
was, at the time embraced in our narrative, her 
greatest failing. The exhibition of it will be seen in 
the following chapter. 



186 MARRYING RICH. 



CHAPTER II. 

Charles and his mother were sitting in the large 
east room, toward the close of the day. The sun 
shone brightly upon the opposite hill, and the fresh 
spring breezes floated gently through the foliage of 
the surrounding trees. The mother evidently wished 
to introduce a subject of importance, and with some 
effort she at length began : 

" Charles, you are now twenty-three. You have 
finished your education, and have come home to 
stay. I cannot tell you how happy I am to have you 
back again." 

" I am equally happy to be here, mother. Indeed, 
I have always longed for this quiet home." 

"It has cost a great deal of money to give you 
your fine education, Charles." 

"I know it, mother; and it has cost you many 
other sacrifices. In all my absence this has been the 
only thing that has cast a shadow on my heart. Yet, 
mother, had the money and the time been all my 
own, I should have felt that both were well invested 
in the acquisitions I have made." 

" And so I do, my son. I do not mention it be- 
cause I regret it at all. No, no ; I am proud of it all, 



MARRYING RICH. 187' 

and I am proud of my boy. You have not disap- 
pointed me, and I don't tliink you will." 

" I should be ungrateful to disappoint your expec- 
tations, mother. As I love you, I shall ever strive to 
honor you." 

" But, Charles, what are your plans for the future ? 
We must have some plans, my son." 

"Tes. But have I not always said that I was 
coming home to be a farmer, when I got through 
college ?" 

" To be sure. But then there are other plans, you 
know. You must have some other plans, haven't 
you?" 

"About what?" 

"Well — about — why — about — getting a wife, for 
instance." 

"Why, really," said Charles, laughing, "I can't 
say that I have any very specific plans about that. 
I have, certainly, a sort of vague impression that 
* marriage is honorable,' and that a 'wife is a good 
thing,' but that would hardly amount to a plan, 
would it?" 

" O, you want to evade the subject." 

"No, I am willing to converse seriously on that 
subject with you, my dear mother. And may I 
inquire, have you any plan in my behalf?" 

" Well, I want you to do welU^ 

" That is very natural, but not very definite." 



188 MARRYING RICH. 

" "Well, then, I want you to marry richP 

"That may be difficult." 

"JSTot at all. You are good-looking. You have 
an excellent education. You can go in the best 
society. And you can get a rich girl, if you try. 
I'm sure you can." 

" Do you know one that you think I could get?" 

" Yes. Miss Marks has been left with a handsome 
fortune in her own right, and when her grandfather 
dies she will inherit all his vast estates." 

" How much is she worth now, mother ?" 

" Not less than twenty thousand." 

"Are you much acquainted with the girl?" 

" No. I have seen her a few times, abroad. She 
visits at the Petersons, who are a very aristocratic 
family." 

" Does she go into our society much ?" 

"No." 

" I have met her myself, mother, and think I know 
her. In the first place, I am obliged to say that she 
is not familiar with the better class of society. Her 
father was a craven money-lender. He made a for- 
tune by oppressing the poor. The greed of gain con- 
sumed him, and he died young, of very avarice. 
His father had trained him up for such a life, and he 
infused his spirit into his daughter also. She is 
utterly incapable of any noble endeavors. Her 
education is limited. Her mind is ever groveling. 



MARRYING RICH. 189 

She has none of those accomplishments, none of that 
refinement and feminine delicacy of sentiment that 
is a passport to good society. She gloats over her 
wealth, and assumes airs that are offensive. That 
class of aristocrats to which she belongs, and with 
whom she moves, are known among men as snobs. 
Thet have an artificial and vicious standard of 
etiquette. I don't feel much like assuming any 
of the honors of such a connection, mother." 
" But you will not forget that she is very rich." 
" Xo. Xor can I forget that she possesses a nar- 
row and vulgar mind. Her money can never buy 
for her those qualities that a woman must have to 
make her husband happy." 

" I am afraid you are too sentimental." 
" 'Eo. I look at this matter in a utilitarian light. 
What should I gain by such a marriage ?" 

"You would get twenty thousand dollars and a 
wife." 

"A loifef Ah, that word, in my mind, has al- 
ways imported goodness^ nobleness^ amiability^ devo- 
tion. Why, that is the holiest word in the language, 
aside from the name of Deity." 

" Would you rank it above the word mother f " 

"In some respects, no; in others, yes. To the 

husband, wife is the most hallowed name ; to the 

son, mother. But we should remember that the 

woman may bear both these hallowed names. Miss 



190 MARRYING RICH. 

Marks is not sucli a person as I could place in either 
relation. Why, I have seen her turn the poor from 
her door in scorn, and her name for charity is a by- 
word. But I really think that I can do better than 
marry Miss Marks. To be honest, I think I can 
marry TicherP 

" Well, if you can, I will be satisfied." 

"Will you, mother?" 

" Certainly ; and be glad of it too." 

" Well, I can do it, and I will. In fact, I have 
had more thought on this subject than I have ut- 
tered." 

"Where can you find a girl worth more than 
twenty thousand dollars, that you can win ?" 

" Well, mother, I may as well make my confession 
first as last. I have seen a young lady whose wealth, 
if all I have heard be true, is many times greater 
than that of Miss Marks. I have been assured that 
she is highly connected, and I have learned from 
herself that she is willing to bestow all her treasures, 
with her own hand, upon me. If I may but have 
your blessing upon my union with her, I hope to be 
the richest man in all this region. ISTow will you 
allow me to follow my own inclination in this 
matter? I assure you, my mother shall never 
have occasion to blush at the choice her son has 
made." 

" Yes, certainly. I'm glad you have not been 



MARRYING RICH. 191 

SO foolish as to neglect the good fortune thus oiFered 
you." 

Little did Mrs. Barnwell understand the import 
of her son's words. Little did she dream of the 
mortification and son-ow in store for her. 



CHAPTER III. 

Chakles Baknwell had always acquitted himself 
well in his career as a student. His mind was of 
that symmetrical cast that admits of seriousness 
without severity, and sprightliness without levity. 
An ardent lover of truth, he was energetic in its 
acquirements. Esteeming the society of the wise 
and the good, his walks were among the purest 
and most elevated circles. Deeply pious, he was 
ever happiest when he was mingling with those 
whose conversation was in heaven. It would be 
expected that he would be found often in those 
places where Christians meet for social worship. 

The L College was celebrated for the religious 

influence that generally prevailed among its mem 
bers. No season passed without a gracious revival 
of religion in the town where it was located. Be- 



192 MARRYING RICH. 

tween tne citizens of the town and the students of 
the college, there subsisted an intimacy of inter- 
course and a sympathy of feeling that seldom are 
seen at such institutions. They had little about 
which to wrangle, and much in which to affiliate 
and cordially work together. Let the reader ac- 
company us to the house of God on a sweet May 
evening. The people are quietly and cheerfully as- 
sembling for social worship. The exercises com- 
mence and proceed with sweet and uniform anima- 
tion. E'ow the song of praise goes up like incense 
to heaven; now from the bended knee the yearning 
heart pleads with God. 

Hark ! that voice is not recognized in this house 
of worship. It is a female voice. The language of 
the petition is such as irresistibly to arrest the at- 
tention of every one present. So elevated the 
thought ; so pure and chaste the diction ; so calm 
and subdued the tone ; so deep and soul-thrilling 
the pathos. The soul of the petitioner evidently 
wrestled calmly, earnestly, and mightily with God. 
The words of the prayer burned into the very soul 
of each one w^ho heard them, and the whole assem- 
bly was pervaded with the thrilling power of that 
one heart's prevailing utterances. On no one did 
the prayer of the stranger make a deeper impression 
than on Charles Barnwell. He felt, as only a re- 
fined and noble mind can feel, the depth of import 



MARRYING RICH. 193 

that attended the most pure and glowing language 
he had ever heard. 

You will pardon him, kind reader, for resolving 
then and there, to avail himself of the first op- 
portunity to become acquainted personally with the 
pei-son in whom he was so much interested. 

He did not have long to wait. He had been ac- 
customed to drop in now and then at the meeting 
of a sewing-circle. This circle met the next day. 
He resolved to attend it, and as he had often done 
before, inquire in what way he and his associates 
could aid the objects of the society. Full of the hope 
that he might meet this lady there, he proceeded to 
the place of meeting. More than once he detected 
himself asking why he felt such an interest in her. 
She was to him a stranger. He had seen her only 
the evening before, and then he had seen but little 
of her. He could not say she appeared beautiful, 
but there was something in the deep, rich, subdued 
pathos of her voice, something in the glowing fervor 
of her soul, that fascinated him. 

The ladies were assembled, and in the midst of 
their work, when he made his appearence. He re- 
ceived their cordial salutations, and returned them 
with a cordiality equal to that with which they 
were offered. There was one lady well known to 
him on account of her self-sacrificing, devoted, relig- 
ious life. She was a widow, living in humble 



194 MARRYING RICH. 

privacy, yet doing much good silently and meekly. 
Slie was poor. Her own hands earned her dayly 
bread. Mrs. Gray was at this time accompanied 
by a young lady, A glance informed him that 
she was the person whose acquaintance he so much 
desired. As soon, therefore, as he could do so with- 
out apparent haste, he placed himself by the side 
of his friend and entered into conversation. He 
was immediately introduced to Miss Ellen Gray, 
and the conversation was carried on between them. 
We will not undertake to report their conxersa- 
tion in detail. Yery naturally, the business of the 
circle suggested the destitution and wretchedness of 
multitudes of our race, the best methods of reaching 
the benighted heathen with the light of the Gospel, 
and the power of that Gospel to quicken and elevate 
the race. In these subjects she evinced a zeal full 
of sympathy and intelligence. Charles was filled 
with admiration at the extent and variety of the in- 
formation she possessed, and fascinated with the ease 
and grace of her conversation. He watched the ex- 
pression of her countenance as she talked. I^ow the 
bright light of her deep blue eye would seem to 
scintillate around him ; now a shade of sadness 
would pass over her, and now the utmost gentle- 
ness and tenderness would blend upon her features. 
Altogether, when he retired from her charming pres- 
ence, Charles Barnwell confessed to himself that she 



MARRYING RICH. 195 

had become to him an object of very tender regard. 
He was in love. Still he wished he could know 
something of her history. He had entered his last 
year as a student. He must not allow liis mind to 
be too much occupied with sucli a matter as love. 
But no, he wouldn't do tliat. He begged to know 
of himself if he could not maintain his self-mastery. 
True, he admired Miss Gray, and who, that had met 
with her and convei'sed with her, would not ? There 
was nothing strange in his admiration of her. Surely 
it would do him no harm to run in at Mrs. Gray's 
now and then, and enjoy an hour of pleasant chat 
with her and her beautiful niece. 

In spite of himself, however, he often found his 
thoughts ^vandering away from the book before him 
to the humble cottage and its inmates. We do him 
but justice, however, in acknowledging that he put 
his vagrant thoughts under arrest at such times, and 
dragged them back to their task. 

One evening, while taking the air just for his 
health's sake, nothing else, certainly, Charles found 
himself sauntering along by the little cottage. It 
was quite a matter of coui*se that he should just call. 
" But what is the matter with me ?" he said to him- 
self as he opened the gate ; " I do believe I shall suf- 
focate." Poor fellow! his heart was in his throat. 
His knees trembled, and he felt that his face was 

crimson. He never felt so before when he made a 

13 



196 MAERYING RICH. 

call on Mrs. Gray. But this was the first time he 
had called since the niece arrived. Perhaps that 
would account for feelings so unusual. 

Miss Gray had an opportunity now to take the 
part of an entertainer, being at home. And well 
did she perform her part. Charles was soon made 
easy in the presence of the ladies, and an hour pass- 
ed more pleasantly, it seemed to him, than ever an 
hour passed before. Did he not betray his emotions? 
One of the three was suspicious of the fact that he 
was more than interested in the conversation. The 
widow Gray had observed the effect which her 
niece's presence had produced on him, and she 
secretly attributed it to the right cause. Nor was 
she disquieted with her suspicion. The reputation 
of Charles Earnwell was such as commended to her 
any attachment that might grow up between him 
and her neice. 

'No one in L knew anything of the young 

lady's former history. All that was known of her 
was, that her father was Mrs. Gray's brother, and had 
resided in a distant state. It was said that he had a 
moderate station in life, and was respected by his 
fellow-citizens. 'No one knew his circumstances in 
respect to property. Some said that he was poor, 
others that he had a competence. But if the apparel 
of the daughter was any index to the circumstances 
of the father, it was evident that he must be a poor 



MABBYING BICH. 197 

man. It was observed that she never appeared in 
anything but the plainest garb. The material of her 
wardrobe was uniformly common, if not coarse. Yet 
whatever she wore, she moved with the same calm 
dignity and self-possession that marked the superior 
qualities of her mind. In her aunt's family she 
seemed as a maid of all work, now in the kitchen, 
now in the chamber, and now plying her needle. 
A.nd what some people remarked as a very singular 
thing, she was never disquieted by being taken by 
surprise at her work. She could leave her work and 
engage in conversation with the utmost ease, and 
never failed to interest those with whom she con- 
versed. People speculated and queried much about 
her. It was odd, they said, that so much grace of 
carriage, so much polish of manner, so much ease 
and sprightliness in conversation, and, withal, such 
evidence of the highest culture, could consist with 
the humble position she seemed to occupy. 

All tjiese queries were at length put to rest by the 
announcement that Miss Gray had engaged to do 
some needle-work in Squire Little's family. Now 
it was known that she must be a poor girl, and 
though she was accomplished^ as she was acknowl- 
edged to be, it was evident that she was not admis- 
sible to the first class of society. Of course, Miss 
Gray, the seamstress, would not expect to associate 
on terms of equality with the Misses Little. 



198 MARRYING RICH. 

One evening the young ladies received a call from 
some young gentlemen of the college. Among them 
was our friend, Charles Barnwell. To be noticed by 
this class of young gentlemen was always gratifying. 
The party entered gayly into conversation, and wit 
sparkled and iiashed in their sallies. At length 
music was called for, and Miss Julia Little led the 
way with a piece onty tolerably performed. 

At length, as the performances seemed to languish, 
one of the gentlemen asked, " Is Miss Gray with 
you now ?" 

"Yes, she has been working for us a few days 
past." 

" She seems quite an interesting girl !" 

" Yes, rather," said Miss Julia, and after a mo- 
ment added : " She is a beautiful seamstress." 

" Yery likely," said Charles; "she would be heauti- 
ful in any occupation." 

" Charles Barnwell in love with a young seam- 
stress !" cried two or three at once. 

" As you please, ladies," said Charles, smiling ; " I 
confess I admire her." 

"O! Julia," said the youngest Miss Little, "Miss 
Gray plays prettily. I heard her this morning." 

"Invite her in," said William Blakeslee, half 
ironically. 

"Do, by all means," said Charles Barnwell, 
earnestly. 



MARRYING RICH. 199 

" O, we should have been glad to invite her in at 
first," replied Julia, " only we could not know it 
would please you." 

Miss Gray was immediately sought for, and soon 
made her appearance. 

" Now, dear Miss Gray," said Emily, " you must 
give us a song. Julia has been playing, and we all 
want you to play for us." 

ISTotwithstanding the evident ill-grace of the invi- 
tation, looking, as it did, as though she had been 
called in merely to entertain the company, she 
readily complied. There was no affectation of airs; 
there was the same serene dignity united with 
unassumed meekness that always lent such a power- 
ful fascination to her presence. 

While she drew forth the full power of the instru- 
ment, every one looked on with admiration. It was 
evident that she w^as a proficient in this beautiful 
accomplishment. Kising from the instrument, she 
made a simple apology, and excused herself, saying, 
she had promised to spend the evening with her 
aunt. 

" And with your permission, I will -bear you 
company. Miss Gray," said Charles. 



200 MAREYING RICH. 



CHAPTEE lY. 

It was now six months since Charles had fii-st met 
Miss Gray in the social meeting. His interest in her 
had gone on increasing continually, and he acknowl- 
edged to himself that he loved her. They had 
often worshiped together. They had met frequently 
at the house of her aunt, and whenever he had 
attempted to study her deliberately, he had found 
himself lost in admiring her. That she was a poor 
girl was no objection to her in his mind. Her pure 
heart, her high intellectual endowments, her genuine 
piety, her unassuming modesty, and the grace of her 
conversation, fully compensated, in his judgment, 
the want of wealth ; nay, more, her virtues and 
accomplishments were the true jewels, whose posses- 
sion would make any one rich. 

ISTor did Ellen seem to dislike his attentions. 
There was a true congeniality of spirit between 
them. Aunt Gray saw that they loved each other, 
and she was secretly happy in view of their mutual 
attachment. They were worthy of each other she 
said to herself. And she often made an excuse to be 
engaged when he called, and thus they were left 
much in each other's society. 



MARRYING RICH. 201 

Affairs at length came to a crisis. Charles must 
soon return to his home. He confidently expected 
to bear with him the highest honors his alma mater 
could confer on the young graduate. But he longed 
far more earnestly to carry with him the pledge of 
her whose worshiper he had become. Would she 
consent to be his ? Ah ! this question, which seemed 
to imply a doubt, threw him into a tumult of con- 
flicting emotions? He resolved to know the worst 
at once. Had he flattered himself that she loved 
him when she did not? Full of these thoughts, yet 
resolute to declare his love, he walked rapidly down 
to Mrs. Gray's, and was soon in the presence of 
Ellen. 

" Ellen," said he, when they were alone, " I called 
on business." 

"With my aunt? Excuse me a moment, I will 
call her." 

" No, with you." 

"Indeed!" 

"Yes, with you. Tliere is a place vacant which 
you are desired to consent to fill." 

"Do you think me qualified to fill it prop- 
erly f' 

" Better than any other living person." 

"Kow you flatter me. But would you advise me 
to accept the place ?" 

" I cannot say that I would dchise you, but, dear- 



202 ' MARRYING RICH. 

est friend, I will entreat yon. Pardon me, bnt I 
came to tell you how dear you are to me, how my 
love for you consumes me until I know whether I 
may hope that it is returned or not. The vacant 
place is by my side. I feel that you only can fill it. 
Will you consent to share with me the fortunes of 
life ?" Almost unconsciously he had taken her hand 
in his, and she had not withdrawn it. She heard 
him without any apparent displeasure. A tear 
moistened her eye. 

'^ Have you weighed this matter ?" she replied. 

" Yes, again and again ; I can only be wretched if 
you deny me. Let me tell you the truth ; I began 
by admiring your fine talents. I soon admired, still 
more, your deep piety. I sought your acquaintance. 
I soon found myself seeking your society often. Has 
not our intercourse, as friends, been sweet? We 
have seemed to be formed after the same intellectual 
mold. Your thoughts have answered to mine, mine 
have reflected yours. We have worshiped at the 
same altar. We have read the same books. We 
have admired the same objects. In all things our 
aims, aspirations, sympathies, and opinions, have 
seemed to coincide. How could it be otherwise 
than that I sliould love you ?" 

"But have you considered our stations in life? 
Have you thought how it would be regarded by the 
world, if you, who are just ready to receive the 



MARKYING RICH. 203 

honors of college — if you, whose future is full of 
bright promise, were to marry a poor girl, a seam- 
stress ?" 

" What do I care for the world's thought ? It will 
aifect me as little as the slightest breath of air. I 
despise the factitious distinctions of the world. I 
know you to be good, and intelligent, and accom- 
plished. Your tastes, and sentiments, and views of 
life, are in unison with mine. What right, then, has 
the world heartlessly to interpose its selfish laws be- 
tween us? I know that the world is wrong in this, 
and I will never be bound by its absurd rules. I 
love you with my whole being. I cannot elevate 
you in the social scale. You are already worthy of 
the highest place. Besides this, I am not ambitious 
to walk in what the world calls its highest circles. 
There life is all artificial. Tlie prisoner in the stocks 
is not more absolutely bound than are the members 
of those circles. They who, to gratify their vanity, 
seek admission there, have to pay the full penalty of 
pains and distress for their ambition. And it is a 
terrible price. My intention is to lead a quiet rural 
life. Only to serve my country or my God, would I 
consent to forego the pleasure of my quiet home. 
No, dearest Ellen, I care nothing for the world's 
thoughts. And if I did, I know that the world, the 
versatile world, would soon applaud my choice of 
such a one as vou." 



204 MARRYING RICH. 

"Do you, then, think it possible to love unself- 
ishly?" 

" Ah ! I may be only too selfish in my love. I as- 
sure you I should feel that I have secured a treasure 
of wealth in you. Were you the possessor of lands 
and gold, I might have reason to hesitate lest ray 
affection was biased by a base motive. Heaven 
knows I should never cease to despise myself for 
such an act. jSTor could I despise myself less, if 
knowing that you had not property, I should cast 
away your real riches of mind for a similar rqason. 
ISTo, you are rich in all that is j^ermanent 'y in the 
purity and nobilit}^ of the mind. That is the only 
patent of nobility I recognize. But why should 
I urge these views? The only question is a question 
of the heart. Can you love me, and will you be 
mine?" . - 

"I will not evade your question. My heart is 
yours, Charles. Only I would not have you commit 
yourself without considering the social position I oc- 
cupy. I would not be to you an occasion of future 
regret." 

" Noblest, best of women ! My heart shall ever 
bless you for the happiness you have occasioned 



MARRYING RICH. 206 



CHAPTER Y. 

IToT long after the events narrated in the last 
chapter, the conversation between Charles and his 
mother took place. The reader will have seen in 
Avhat sense Charles understood himself when he 
informed his mother that he w^as engaged, and 
that he should marry rich. He was fully persuad- 
ed that his mother, (who was an excellent woman, 
despite the weakness before alluded to,) when she 
came to know the exalted virtues of his adored 
Ellen, would not only approve, but applaud his 
choice. He did not intend wickedly to dissemble, 
yet he could not altogether justify himself. Why 
not tell her the girl was poor in this world's goods, 
but rich in virtue, intelligence, refinement, and all 
female accomplishments ? Sometimes he almost 
resolved to do it; to acknowledge his error, and 
pray that his choice might be approved. Then, 
again, he resolved to let time tell the story, and 
trust to the influence of acquaintance with his 
chosen bride to remove all objections on the ground 
of poverty. It would be but a little time, for it was 
arranged that their nuptials should be celebrated 
during the latter part of the season. 



206 MARRYING RICH. 

Thus the time hastened on, and the day arrived 
when he was to go and claim his bride at the 
hands of her parents. Already they had sanctioned 
lier espousal. They knew, they said, the reputa- 
tion of the young gentleman who had done them 
the honor of seeking their daughter's hand. They 
had heard of his disinterested affection; of the mag- 
nanimity with which he had sacrificed the chances 
of, apparently, far more advantageous alliances, for 
the sake of her own personal worth, which, they 
truly believed, he had not overestimated. They 
were ready to receive him as a son, and hoped for 
much happiness to result from the relation. They 
hoped that lie would not fail to be accompanied by 
his parents at the marriage. This was now agreed 
upon, and Mrs. Barnwell's heart was in a constant 
tumult of excitement, speculating upon what kind 
of people the Grays could be. What style did they 
live in? How should she appear in the society of 
such grand people as they must be, if they were so 
rich? She almost regretted that her son would get 
a rich wife, now, for she began to fear that it might 
be the occasion of some separation between the 
parents and the children. How could she expect a 
wealthy young lady, a person of aristocratic con- 
nections, to be willing to descend to the circle in 
which she had hitherto moved? And how could 
she hope ever to feel at ease in those higher walks 



MARRYING RICH. 207 

which would befit her rich daughter-in-law? Poor 
woman, she just began to feel that she had miscal- 
culated the advantages of her son's marrying rich. 
She feared that she had put thorns in her own heart 
by so often exhorting him to look for a rich wife. 

Charles did not fail to perceive the trouble she 
was in, and it gave him secret pleasure. It would 
render the denouement less terrible than he had 
feared. In fact, he believed that when the truth 
was known, and it was found that she was not rich, 
it would be an absolute relief to his mother's feelings. 

As to his father, he had no misgivings on his 
account. He cared but little for wealth. A com- 
petence was desirable; more than this was a vexa- 
tion. He hoj)ed the young lady had good sense 
and a good heart, and he thought Charles would 
not have fancied her if she had not. 

But Charles was determined that his mother's 
concern should be enhanced to that point that the 
truth, when known, would be a positive relief So 
he took occasion often, when they were alone 
together, to expatiate upon the queenly dignity, 
the polished grace, and the lofty intelligence of his 
affianced bride. The scheme worked well ; and, by 
the time that they were ready to commence their 
journey, Mrs. Barnwell was so agitated with doubts, 
and fears, and misgivings, that she heartily wished 
she had been less anxious to contract great alliances. 



208 MARRYING RICH. 

The preparations were at length completed. A 

ride of a day brought them to the village of C , 

where the Grays resided. They had lived here only a 
short time, and were little known in the village. A 
man who was inquired of, pointed out a small house 
in the edge of the village, as their residence. 

"What! that little white house without blinds?" 

"Yes." 

As they moved on, Mrs. Barnwell said : 

"That don't look like the dwelling of a man of 
immense wealth, does it, Charles ?" 

" ]^o, I should think not. Perhaps Mr. Gray is 
not wealthy." 

" But did you not say he was ?" 

"ITo, mother; I never said anything about his 
circumstances; though I should think any man rich 
who had such a daughter as Ellen Gray." 

"Then she is not rich, after all. Well, I don't 
know but I am glad of it. I do say the thought of 
the wealth and the aristocratic position of this family 
has almost destroyed my health lately." 

" Ah, mother, I still think her the richest girl I 
ever saw," said Charles, who was willing his mother 
should now undei*stand him fully. 

" About as I expected," said Mr. Barnwell. " I 
am well satisfied with your ability to choose for 
yourself, Charles. Money is as often a curse as a 
blessing to the rich." 



MARRYING RICH. 209 

Mr. Gray received the Barn wells with easy af- 
fability, and conducted them into the parlor. They 
soon felt perfectly at home in the family. Aunt 
Gray was there, and Charles felt a singular happiness 
in the company of the worthy family. ISTever did 
Ellen seem to him more lovely. ISTever did he 
esteem himself so blessed as now. 

The marriage was consummated in the evening, 
and it was arranged that the parties should start on a 
brief tour the next morning. It was a happy occa- 
sion. Mr. and Mrs. Barnwell unreservedly applauded 
the good judgment of their son. How could he help 
loving so much beauty, and such perfection ? they 
asked each other. They were fascinated by her 
artless simplicity, her unaffected dignity and im- 
equaled grace. And when they saw her devotion 
to rehgious principle, they rejoiced that she had 
become their daughter. 

We must hasten to the conclusion of our narrative. 
The next morning Charles and his wife were about 
taking their departure, when Mr. Gray said : 

"You will find us in the city on your return." 
There was a meaning smile on his lips as he said this. 
" But," said Charles, " do you break up here ?" 

" Yes. "We only came here to enjoy the country air 
a few weeks, and we shall now return ; for you, sir, have 
fairly broken us up by taking our darling away from 
us. We shall hardly enjoy ourselves here any longer." 



^10 MARRYING RICH. 

"But what does this all mean?" said Charles, aside, 
to his wife. 

She had not time to answer before her father 
proceeded : 

"Yon, sir, have, as I said, broken ns up. You 
have allured our only daughter awaj from our 
society. You have got the poor sewing-girl at last ; 
ha ! ha ! Good, sir, good. You'll find she is a 
witch, sir. She is a good-for-nothing witch. Only 
think ; here she has left us to die of loneliness, for 
nearly a year, only just to catch some simpleton of 
a fellow and make a husband of him. And she has 
done it ; ha ! ha ! But, sir, you have undertaken a 
great task, the support of that girl. I suppose I shall 
have to help you a little by and by." 

" O, father, how can you ?" 

"How can I? Well, now, perhaps I shall find 
some way to — " 

" No, no ; I mean how can you talk so ?" 

" O yes ; why, you little deserter of father and 
mother, and home, what right have you to question 
me? Here, sir, I demand that you take her away, 
and don't let her interrupt me again. It's a great 
tax, sir, a great tax, to assume the support of that 
girl. I pity you, sir; I do. So see here, just do me 
the kindness to take this bit of paper to my banker, 

in R , and it will be a great relief to my feelings. 

Ha! ha!" 



MARRYING RICH. 211 

Charles Barnwell's face was crimson. He could 
not be displeased, but he was stupefied. Seeing his 
confusion, Ellen snatched the paper from her father. 

"Take it, my son," said Mr. Gray, more soberly; 
"it is the first installment of the sewing-girl's por- 
tion." 

Charles took it. It was a check for twenty thou- 
sand dollars^ payable to Charles Barnwell, or bearer, 
signed by her father. 

"My dear Ellen, will you explain this to us all?" 
said Charles, nearly overcome by his emotions. 

" Forgive me, my dear, for playing an innocent 

trick. I have dissembled, but not wickedly I trust. 

More than a year ago my parents urged me to 

make a selection from among several suitors, and 

marry. I was not able to do it. I vvas surrounded 

-svith all the advantages of wealth, and those who 

sought my hand knew it. Through the vehement 

protestations of undying love made by them, I 

thought I could see a cold, selfish calculation upon 

the dowr}' I should bring them. At least I could 

love none of them. There were young gentlemen, 

in humble life, whose true hearts I could have 

trusted, but between me and them, society had 

erected the barriers of heartless caste. I saw those 

young gentlemen who were ready to die for me 

passing by a young lady, a friend of mine, a child 

of misfortune, once an expectant heiress, and then 

14 



212 MARRYING RICH. 

sought after by them; now impoverished, ohtaining 
her living with her needle, and passed by without 
so much as a friendly recognition by those devoted 
gallants. Alas! I said, I am most unfortunate. I 
can never know when a true heart is offered me, I 
would rather live in loneliness and die unmated than 
aid to perpetuate those social evils which are the 
destruction of all my joys. I then proposed to my 
dear parents to allow me to withdraw from society 
for a year, to go into some distant retreat, and find a 
heart to love me for my own sake. I found you all 
I had yearned after in secret. My beloved parents 
were advised constantly of my affairs, and as they 
had allowed my caprice, as they called it, so they 
approved of my attachment, when I informed them 
of it. And now may I not add, I am grateful to 
that Providence whose guidance introduced us to 
each other. That by the blessing of that same be- 
nignant Providence my father is the steward of 
large mercies, is accounted by the world rich; and 
that, as his only child, I am also prospectively 
wealthy, need not diminish the happiness we have 
had in each other's pure and unselfish love. To you, 
who have shown yourself magnanimous and noble in 
the past, God has given the means to be more useful 
in the future. Happier in each other we cannot be 
made by money ; but to the world we may be ena- 
bled to do more good." 



MAREYING RICH. 213 

" Rich or poor, you are all the same to me," said 
Charles. Tears of gratitude and joy were in every 
eye. 

Years afterward, when Charles Barnwell had be- 
come the owner of immense estates, whenever his 
name was spoken and that of his worthy wife, it was 
with the heartfelt blessings of the poor ; for as faith- 
ful stewards, they ever dispensed the bounties of 
Providence without stint. And still they live, hon- 
oring the Christian name, and bringing happiness to 
thousands of hearts. 



THE 



SEA-CAPTAIFS DAU&HTEES, 



THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTERS, 



Maria and Annie were favorite children of the 
wealthy and worldly Captain F. Tliey had been 
introduced to the gayest circles of the city in which 
they resided ; their father having long since retired 
from a life on the waves to a home of elegance in 
B. 'No fashionable resorts or amusements were 
unfamiliar to his daughters, whose beauty and ap- 
pearance fully gratified his pride. But the holy 
sanctuary was seldom frequented, and by himself 
was wholly neglected. The gay assembly envied 
his position, while the heirs to an eternal inheritance 
mournfully pitied and earnestly prayed. 

Late one Saturday night in February, Annie, the 
younger daughter, returned home from the theater, 
where she had witnessed an unusually exciting per- 
formance. A death-scene had been the closing act, 
and so perfectly was it represented, that for a 
moment, silence reigned throughout the spacious 
and crowded hall ; but it was suddenly broken by 



218 THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTERS. 

the exclamation beside her, more thoughtless than 
herself, ^'BidnH he die sjplendidlyT^ Those words 
lingered in her memory as the carriage wheels rat- 
tled hastily over the pavement, and the same pre- 
vented her eyes from slumber, as she vainly sought 
her pillow, restless and prayerless. 

It could not be that the recollection of that 
mock-scene, or the careless remark that followed, 
so disturbed her, she thought, as daylight dawned 
upon her unclosed eyelids. Little dreamed she it was 
the awaking of a conscience which a want of relig- 
ious education had caused to lie dormant nearly 
twenty years. She had little thought that the very 
amusement which never before failed to silence that 
inward monitor, would prove the instrument through 
which the Spirit's "still, small voice" might speak; 
that where she expected pleasure, she would mys- 
teriously find pain. But God, who can make " the 
wrath of man to praise him," can likewise bring 
good results from evil. 

With a heavy heart she rose on Sabbath morning, 
complained of an aching head, and asked permission 
to walk alone to the park during the forenoon. 
The church bells, which she seldom heeded, seemed 
to summon worshipers to the house of God, and 
almost unconsciously she found herself nearing one 
of those earthly temples, toward which crowds were 
hastening. "I never was in this church," said she 



THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTERS. 219 

to herself, and prompted by a feeling of curiosity, 
as she believed, she entered, and was immediately 
conducted to a seat. The stated shepherd of this 
flock was absent, and in his place sat the devout 
Dr. B., of another city. His very countenance 
was expressive of Christian love, and the fruits of 
the Spirit were ever manifested in his life and 
words. The organ peals, so unlike the lively strains 
of music to which her ears were accustomed, sent 
a solemn thrill through her soul, and for the first 
time in her life, she bowed her head with the 
worshiping congregation, while the clergyman lifted 
up his voice in prayer. 

Unknown to her, sat, very near, a playmate of 
her childhood, now a devoted disciple of Jesus. 
With grief. Miss E. had noticed the irreligious 
influences by which Annie was surrounded. Often 
she had pleaded for her at the mercy- seat, and 
more than once sought an opportunity to speak upon 
the subject so dear to her own heart; but the 
attempt seemed to be in vain. Yet still she prayed 
for her. ISTow she beheld her whom she loved, 
seated near, in church, and noticed her devotional 
attitude. And more fervently than ever, she be- 
sought the God of the sanctuary that the Holy 
Spirit might accompany the word spoken, to her 
friend's heart, and make it effectual to her conver- 
sion. She closely watched her changing expression 



220 THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTERS. 

of countenance, as tlie eternal death of the sinner 
was discoursed upon, and the entreaty urged to 
come to the fountain of living waters, and be 
cleansed from all guilt ; the text being, " Turn ye, 
turn ye, for why will ye die, O house of Israel?" 
A tear was visible upon Annie's cheek. Her heart 
was softened. Tenderly, affectionately, and earnestly 
the good servant of God appealed to the hearts of 
the impenitent, to forsake sin, and accept offered 
mercy ; and more fervently prayed Miss R. for 
her. 

The morning service being closed, she hastened 
to her friend. Clasping Annie's hand within both 
her own, she only said, "Let nothing prevent you 
from coming again this afternoon," and with a 
meaning glance and a full heart, left her to plead 
for her in her own closet, where none but God 
was near. 

Annie returned home vsdth feelings unknown to 
herself before. She knew and felt herself to be a 
great sinner, justly condemned to eternal death, 
and wondered why she had been so long in 
ignorance of the alarming truth. Repeatedly and 
hurriedly she paced her room, absorbed with her 
own painful reflections, refusing to eat. Her friends, 
supposing her ill, insisted upon sending for medical 
advice ; but she objected, and expressed a determ- 
ination to attend church in the afternoon. Little 



THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTERS. 221 

thought they that Jesus, the great physician of the 
soul, was only needed, and that they, too, were 
equally diseased, and in greater danger, because 
unaware of their peril. Though surprised at her 
wish, they reluctantly consented. 

Accordingly she obeyed the summons of the bell, 
now seeing as in a mirror her guilt and wretched- 
ness, and desiring a clean heart and right spirit, 
without which she was convinced she must be for- 
ever unhappy. In the porch she found awaiting 
her Miss K., who, apparently with a heart too full to 
speak, led her to her own slip and sat beside her. 

Prayer was offered, but though she bowed low 
her head, her soul knew not how to engage in it. 
Every word added new weight to her burden. 
When the clergyman read the passage selected as 
the theme of his discourse, " I, even I, am He that 
blotteth out thy transgressions for mine own sake, and 
will not remember thy sins," and dwelt long upon 
the love and compassion of om- Lord, and at length 
ended with his invitation and promises, " Come unto 
me, all ye that are heavy laden, and I will give you 
rest ;" " Whosoever will, let him take the water of 
\ii^ freely f her thoughts had found a new channel. 
God was merciful as well as just ! 

Miss E. accompanied her nearly home, expressed 
her joy at meeting her in God's house, and bade her 
"pray without ceajBing" until she could feel that 



222 THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTERS. 

Jesus had become her own Saviour. " The way has 
been clearly pointed out, and all you have to do is to 
search your Bible, follow its directions, and jpray : 
do this, and you will feel the blessedness of sins for- 
given," said her companion as she left her side, with 
an earnest pressure of the hand. 

" Pray !" thought Annie, as she locked the door of 
her room ; " I know not how to pray ; and where is 
my Bible ? I used to have one when a child." The 
Bible was found, and tearfully she perused its sacred 
pages; it was like a new book to her, and upon 
nearly every leaf she found the command to pray, 
with promises attached or an example on record. 
Jesus prayed, the disciples prayed ; all who desired 
asked before they received ; and the publican smote 
his breast with a sense of his guilt, and cried, " God 
be merciful to me a sinner !" " I can say ihat^ if 
nothing more," she exclaimed ; and falling upon her 
knees, she repeated it again and again with sincerity 
of heart, while tears streamed from her eyes. The 
prayer of the penitent was heard, and we believe that 
hour the glad tidings resounded throughout the new 
Jerusalem, while all the angelic host united in a new 
anthem of praise and rejoicing, for another soul had 
been new-born. 

Did Annie rise from her knees filled with raptu- 
rous joy? O no ! She felt little of forgiveness and 
acceptance, but she had consecrated her heart, her 



THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTERS. 223 

all, to Jesus, and resolved to live and labor for his 
cause, with a firm belief in his promises that he 
would never leave nor forsake her. 

And what was the result of this consecration? 
A calm, peaceful trust, submission to God's will un- 
known to all, save those who, like her, have felt their 
need of a Saviour, and determined with full purpose 
of heart to devote their lives and talents to his service, 
depending alone upon his merits for salvation ! 

As this was but the beginning of true joy and 
love to Annie, so it was the dawn of a new life of 
trial. It was no easy matter for her to relinquish 
the society of her gay associates, leave those circles 
in which she had shone a star, and been universally 
caressed and flattered ; and she saw only two open 
paths before her, the broad and the narrow way, and 
the latter she unhesitatingly chose. 

Blessed with an unusual decision of character and 
knowing the impossibility of serving both God and 
mammon, she sought a knowledge of, and prayed 
for strength to perform every duty, resist temptation, 
and conquer besetting sins. 

The first cross which duty compelled her to take 
up, was that of acquainting her own family friends 
with her change of feelings. Painful indeed was 
the task, but prayer enabled her to jDerform it. O, 
the sneers, rebukes, and cruel jestings that followed! 
Dearly as those parents loved their daughter, their 



224 THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTEKS. 

indignation knew no bounds, and was wholly uncon- 
trolled, while she tearfully confessed that she had 
tried to give her heart to Christ, and should endeavor 
to live for him. Bitter reproaches were their only 
replies, but this act strengthened her, and new joy 
took the place of doubt, as she returned to her room 
to unburden her soul to the ear of Him whose love 
was becoming daily more precious. 

And now a partition wall had arisen between 
herself and sister Maria. Their sympathies, aims, 
aad purposes being no longer one, a grievous 
estrangement existed, instead of that tie which 
should unite the members of one family. She loved 
her sister still, and could not refrain from expressing 
the hope occasionally, that her mind would likewise 
be drawn from worldly pleasure to something more 
satisfactory and abiding ; but every word appeared to 
widen the breach, and she felt that a proper Chris- 
tian example and prayer could alone avail. Months 
rolled on ; her friends' oppositioli not decreasing, 
her own faith strengthening, her hope brightening, 
her love for the sanctuary and religious ordinances 
becoming stronger, and, above all, the Bible growing 
more precious every day. Every repeated trial 
taught her to rely upon the " strong arm," which was 
able and ready to support her, and the loss of friends 
only served to bring her into nearer relations with 
her Saviour, who was her dearest friend. 



THE SEA CAPTAIN^S DAUGHTEllS. 225 

In Miss R. she found trne Christian sympathy 
and warmth of aifection ; and to her she opened fully 
and freely her heart. Often side by side they knelt 
and prayed for spiritual blessings upon her friends; 
but as yet no evidence of answered prayer was 
manifested. The summer following the time of her 
convei'sion, she, with the partial consent of her 
parents, united herself with Christ's earthly Church, 
and with the professed disciples of the Lord partook 
of the body and blood offered a sacrifice for sin. 
She was also a member of the Sabbath school, a 
faithful tract distributer, and endeared herself greatly 
by her consistent deportment to the Church where 
she was first awakened and enlightened, and which 
she had now joined. 

Tlie second anniversary of the evening when 
Annie last visited the theater, and saw enacted the 
death scene, was drawing near. " O," said she to 
me that Saturday morn, ''if my dear parents, 
brothers and sisters, and especially Maria^ were 
only as happy as I am now, I could ask little more ; 
but she is going to a ball to-night, just as I did to the 
theater two years ago." 

Evening came. Maria was gayly attired for the 
brilliant occasion, and full of bright anticipation. 
Annie was in her own room ; for since the change in 
her, her elder sister refused to share the same 
Bleeping apartment, deeply absorbed in thought. 



226 THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTERS. 

Suddenly, as from a fi'esli impulse of feeling, she 
arose and stepped to her sister's side, and tenderly 
said, "Dear Maria, I can't let you go without 
reminding you, that just two years to-night, on the 
eve of the Sabbath, I, too, went — you know where — 
and may this be your last time." 

So affectionate and earnest were her words, that 
her sister could not reply, and Annie left her, saying, 
"I shall pray for you all the time you are away." 
"I don't wish it!" she exclaimed, but the door 
had separated them. 

Faithfully was the promise kept, for not an hour 
had elapsed ere her return. Hearing her steps upon 
the stairs, and fearing some misfortune had occurred, 
she rushed to the door to meet her. ^^You have 
prayed me Tiome^'' exclaimed Maria, and buried her 
face in her sister's bosom. Annie was speechless, 
but not tearless. Her sister followed her to her own 
room, and throwing herself upon the bed, told her 
how her parting words affected her ; how she had 
striven to banish them from her mind, but finding it 
impossible, had induced her companion to take her 
home; "for," she added, "I could not dance with 
you praying for me." Little did those sisters rest 
that night, each in her own room. Yaried were the 
emotions of Annie, as her mind was carried back, con- 
trasting the past with the present, and wondering and 
rejoicing at the new conduct and words of her sister. 



THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTERS. 227 

Maria knew full well the cause of lier distress, 
and struggled hard against the Spirit's influence'; 
but conscience was aroused, and not easily quieted. 

How gladdened was my heart, on entering 
church next morning, to notice by Annie's side — 
Maria! And still more so, to behold in the pulpit 
the well-remembered countenance and form of 
Dr. B., who, since that eventful Sabbath to my 
friend, had not preached in that church. Ah! I 
understood then what meant those streaming eyes, 
and that flushed countenance. Dear Annie ! It 
was almost too much, on that anniversary Sabbath, 
to have not only her sister beside her, but that 
pastor before her. 

Again the good doctor earnestly entreated sin- 
ners to listen to, and accept the invitations of 
Christ, choosing for his text Rev, iii, 20 : " Behold, I 
stand at the door and knock," etc. Maria's tears 
were not the only ones called forth by his touching 
appeals. IS'o wonder Annie's heart was filled to 
overflowing with thankfulness for that day's mer- 
cies. The afternoon service found them again 
there, seated; Annie on her sister's right hand, 
Miss R. on her left. I felt that she w^as, in-. 
deed, borne on wings of prayer up to the throne of 
God. 

"Quench not the Spirit," solemnly read and re- 
peated the venerable clergyman. Every eye was 

15 



228 THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTEKS. 

riveted upon iiim during the whole discourse, and 
seemingly every heart deeply moved. Pale and 
motionless sat Maria, but it was apparent that her 
mind was active. 

The following day I sought an interview with 
Annie, and learned that her sister said little, but 
was evidently very anxious. Again, the next 
morning, no hope had been expressed. She 
seemed in agony, wished to be alone, and desired 
no conversation of any kind. Her parents judged 
the cause, and what might be the result, and 
harshly upbraided Annie for her influence. 

The week had nearly passed; and still no pleas- 
ing news had reached my ears. I knew her 
friends feared insanity, and Annie seemed alarm- 
ed. Her minister was summoned, but his words 
produced but little effect. Friday night, the sym- 
pathizing, loving sister passed entirely in prayer. 
Thi'ough the long hours of darkness she heard 
Maria's step on her carpet, but no word, no sob. 
Earnestly as she sought her own soul's salvation, 
pleaded she for that agonized sister. As daylight 
dawned she entered her room, trembling lest she 
should find her bewildered. The instant she saw 
her, she exclaimed, "O, Annie, had I not so treated 
you, I might long since have hoped ; but now — " 

"My sister, I forgave, and most assuredly a mer- 
ciful Father will. Are you ready to give up all for 



THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTEES. 229 

Christ?" "All! yes: I have done it; I care not 
for the world's opinion ; it has nearly destroyed my 
sonl. If I can only be forgiven, I will do anything, 
be anything for God's sake." "Have you prayed, 
Maria?" "Is'o; I can't. He will not hear me." 
" Have yon opened that Bible ?" " Ko, it is of no 
use!" Annie took the sacred volume, drew her 
sister beside her, and read aloud the fifty-fourth 
Psalm; then, with her arm about her, induced 
her to kneel with her, and audibly commended 
her to the mercy and compassion of a sin-forgiving 
God. Tears flowed profusely, as they had not 
done since the Sabbath, and, when Annie arose, 
Maria still remained kneeling. "Have mercy upon 
me, O God, according to thy loving-kindness ; ac- 
cording to the multitude of thy tender mercies blot 
out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from 
mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin; for I 
acknowledge my transgressions, and my sin is ever 
before me ;" all she could remember of that beau- 
tiful penitential Psalm, she adopted as the language 
of her own petition ; and she, too, was accepted. 

^"I think, I believe, God hears," said she; "can 
it be? Am I owned a child, so sinful?" "My 
own, precious sister!" cried Annie, and the tears 
they mingled were of joy. We believe saints 
above, as well as saints below, rejoiced over this 
new birth. 



230 THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTERS. 

Strange as it may seem, the parents continued 
to manifest their displeasure, though they no longer 
openly opposed. The sisters were wholly united 
in heart, and the following night, when they together 
retired, Maria requested, "Wake me early in the 
morning, for I have no time to lose." 

On tlie second anniversary of the time when 
Annie publicly professed her faith, and determina- 
tion to lead the Christian life, Maria presented 
herself for admission to the Church. Her expres- 
sion was that of subdued pride ; and, as I saw the 
tear-drops fast rolling down her cheeks, I felt as 
never before the power of religion in changing the 
human heart. 

Where now were those hardened parents, and 
others, sisters and brothers ? Not there, and not yet 
numbered, we fear, among God's redeemed people; 
but we hope that in answer to the united prayers 
of those faithful Christian sisters, every member of 
tJiat household will become a member of the family 
of Christ. 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERAIGY. 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 



CHAPTER I. 



The sun had gone down ; the evening was cloudy, 
and the narrow road lying through a dense forest of 
pines, night dropped upon me of a sudden, and dark- 
ness seemed almost tangible. It was winter, how- 
ever, and here and there a few patches of snow 
looked like fragments of dimmed daylight which the 
power of night had not been enabled wholly to ex- 
tinguish. The December wind of a southern winter 
had blown through the day in chill and fitful gusts, 
accompanied by hail and snow, alternately succeed- 
ing each other. It had lulled with nightfall, and 
the darkness and silence of the wilderness were august 
and awful. The click of my horses hoof against a 
stone, the distant hooting of the night-owl, or the 
moaning of the soothed, but sleepless winds, through 
the evergreen foliage, only seemed to add terror and 
loneliness to the profoundness of solitude. The snow, 



234 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

dampened by the rain and sheltered from the wind, 
would here and there mantle some shrub or sapling, 
which, bj a little assistance of fear-distorted fancy, 
looked like the shrouded dead starting from the 
tombs; and the sighing of the night-winds, which 
rose and fell through the tops of the stately pines, 
made one feel as if he was trespassing upon the 
haunts of spirits. 

The distance from one appointment to another on 
this mission circuit, in this early day, was from forty 
to sixty miles. I generally passed from one " settle- 
ment" to another, seldom meeting with any inter- 
mediate inhabitants ; the road was seldom more than 
a " bridle path" or an " old Indian trail." The trees 
among which it would wind, were often " blazed," to 
guide the unwary traveler. On this occasion, I had 
been induced to take a new and strange route ; had 
lost my way through the day, and became benight- 
ed. It was no less new and strange to my horse 
than to myself. Had it been otherwise, the sagacity 
of my faithful animal would put me at ease. Weary, 
wet, hungry, and cold, not having tasted food or seen 
fire since early dawn, I spurred him forward for 
several long, most tedious hours, every step only 
seeming to bear me further and further into the land 
of loneliness. Weariness induced drowsiness, and I 
reeled in my saddle like one intoxicated. In my 
somnambulistic state, my fancy exaggerated and dia 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 235 

torted the shape of every object, and created objects 
where there were none. 

In the dim and dusky light that forced itself down 
upon me through rents in the leaden clouds and 
openings in the tall forests, a clump of undergrowth 
would swell into a mountain ; and at times I seemed 
among the Alps, threading the brink of a fearful 
precipice, amid yawning gorges and inaccessible 
heights. Often did a fire-blackened stub, or a bush, 
assume the shape of a huge bear or panther, or the 
still more startling form of the midnight assassin. I 
suppose it was near midnight when my weary horse 
stopped of his own accord, as if for consultation. 
As if to enjoy his society, 1 leaned forward and 
caressed him by patting him on the neck. To the 
attachment which the itinerant feels for the faitliful 
creature that has borne him so many miles, and 
shared so largely in his perils and privations, I can 
give no name. This was my first circuit. I was a 
youth, fresh from school, "green and tender," with 
the ways of the world to learn, unacquainted with 
forest life. I believed, without abatement, all the 
exaggerated accounts of forest dangers. Memory, 
unbidden, would intrude upon me the unwelcome 
accounts of persons being devoured by panthers 
springing suddenly upon them from trees, and of the 
hair-breadth escapes of persons being chased by 
wolves, etc. And it was no small addition to the 



236 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

unpleasantness of such recollections, that just while 
they were crowding into my mind, an enormous 
"screech-owl," just over my head, gave a scream 
that might have terrified old Terror himself. Such 
a scream ! I have heard nothing like it since, though 
I have spent ten years in the Western woods; wliy, 
it caused the hair upon my head to stand up like 
the quills of a porcupine. I thought of home, four 
hundred miles distant ; of its safety and its quiet ; of 
the sweet and smiling companionship of brothers and 
sisters, and of him and her who were the guardian 
angels of that happy group. Bewildered until all 
effort to locate the cardinal points was mere guess- 
work — the night starless and moonless — ^I stood 
straining my ears to catch, if possible, the tink- 
ling of some cow-bell, or the bark of some settler's 
dog. All was as silent as if nature stood still and 
held her breath. All at once, however, this silence - 
was broken by a prolonged, lugubrious noise, alternat- 
ing between a howl and a yell, but a short distance 
from me. This was succeeded by another, another, 
another, and another, until all, as if by way of 
chorus, blended their horrific howl into one continu- 
ous babel. The forest seemed full of furies just let 
loose. My horse seemed startled, and made a turn 
at right-angles from the narrow trail, though I knew 
it not at the time. I found myself plunging and 
tearing through thickets of undergrowth, the howling 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 237 

savages followiDg close in tlie rear. For a moment, 
the howling would cease altogether ; and then, after 
a long and introductory howl from one which seemed 
the leader, from twenty to forty others appeared to 
chime in most hideously. When there was a pause 
in the howling it alarmed me, if possible, the most, 
as I could not tell where my enemy was. At every 
successive howl, I perceived that they were ap- 
proaching me nearer and nearer, and fast surround- 
ing me. I now perceived that I was out of the road, 
sun'ounded by a compound of undergrowth, so thick 
and scragged, that it seemed impossible to penetrate 
it. Losing all sympathy for my horse in the desire 
of self-preservation, I clapped my spurs to his sides 
most unmercifully, and jerked at the bridle until I 
broke one rein. My "leggins" had been torn off 
in the bushes already ; the skirt of my overcoat was 
aearly gone ; my whip, in attempts to use it, was en- 
tangled in the bushes and lost ; and as a " broad- 
brimmed hat" and a " round-breasted coat" were 
considered in those days indispensable badges of a 
Methodist preacher's calling, if not of his sanctity, 
mine had been prepared " expressly" for the travel- 
ing connection. My hat had gone after my whip, 
and my coat was " seeing some service" that night. 
On, on through the thicket, tore my horse ; nearer 
and nearer approached my prowling tormentors, 
when an impertinent grape-vine tore awaj one of 



238 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

my stirrups, carrying with it my " saddle-bags'' and 
nearly unhorsing me. Thus was I strewing my path 
with the wreck of my itinerant outfit. 

My howling foe now seemed within a few yards 
of me, and all around me ; for, by pulling away at 
one rein, in the desperation of my flight, I found 
that I had been traveling, as logicians say we 
sometimes argue, *' in a circle." I thought of leav- 
ing my saddle and taking to a tree, but this seemed 
impracticable ; besides, to accomplish it, I must 
leave my horse and get on the ground, which 
seemed like descending into a den of hungry lions. 
I resolved on one desperate effort for life ; so abandon- 
ing my horse to his own course, I drew up my feet 
and leaned forward in my saddle like a Camancho 
Indian in the chase, clinching his mane with both 
hands, and applying my well-spurred heels to liis 
sides, with much of the force and something of the 
rapidity of trip-hammers. He snorted and plunged 
forward, at a leap, through the matted, thorny 
thicket, bush and brier, making free to batter and 
saw my face, as if this had been their " manifest 
destiny." 

On my provoked beast tore, and to him I clung 
as if I had been bound there like Mazeppa in 
the poem. Hope was reviving a little as I 
found I left the howling behind, when suddenly 
my hoi-se emerged into an open spac«. At the 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 239 

same moment tlie sharp report of a gun, followed 
by the barking of a great clog, turned my furious 
horse around, which was followed again by a fa- 
miliar voice: 

" Who come dare ? Who dat ?" 

" It is I," I replied in my confusion ; and as the 
loquacious " darkey " approached, (my hungry horse 
putting down his head to graze,) he commenced : 
" Did you hear dem wolves ? dey comes here 'most 
ebbery night an' howls out in dat ticket ; dey atter 
massa's sheep, an' me been wacliing to see if dey 
come out, to shoot um, but de bush crack so in 
dare," (pointing just where I had issued from the 
bushes,) " dat I bang away anyhow\" 

The hall had actually passed within a few inches 
of one. Suddenly recognizing my whereabouts, and 
finding myself safe within almost a stone's throw of 
a " Methodist preacher's home," I dismounted from 
my horse, and felt, in my gratitude, like embracing 
the swarthy, thick-lipped masculine before me. 
But I found myself, at first, unable to stand ; and 
Brother Peter, (for Peter was his name — a very pious 
negro,) who had been "waching" for " de preacher 
as well as de wolves," recognizing me, and construing 
my physical inability, accompanied as it was by 
some religious ejaculations, into a proof that I had 
the "powei-s," commenced shouting, "Bless de Lord!" 
" Why, halleluya !" loud enough to have frightened 



240 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

half the wolves in Missouri. The first burst of his 
ecstasy over, he inquired: 

"Massa, whar's yer hat? Whar?" 

But my answer to pious Peter I must reserve for 
another chapter. 



CHAPTEE II. 



With the feelings of a stranger, with a heart 
yearning toward the shrine of "sweet home," far 
away, how cheering to the w^eary itinerant the hearty 
welcome with w^hich he is wont to meet at a "house- 
hold of faith !" In the bosom of that family, where 
the peculiarly fraternal spirit of Methodism reigns in 
all its ardor, its freshness, frankness, simplicity, con- 
fidence, and hospitality, he finds a balm for his dis- 
consolation ; a rest tliat relieves fatigue ; goes far to 
reward his toils and compensate for his privations. 
Hospitality, always one of the richest graces of the 
hearth-stone, is sweetened into a feast of heaven 
when it flows in Christian sympathy and commingles 
with the communion of saints. How fruitfully sug- 
gestive in blessings to the self-sacrificing itinerant is 
the phrase, " a good home for Methodist preachers ?" 

When I told Peter how I had been frightened, 
the noble fellow sobbed with sorrow, and lifting me 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 241 

into the saddle, as if I had been a child, he led my 
horse to his master's door with as much solicitude 
as if in charge of " Csesar and his fortunes." As I 
was announced, the retired family of Brother B. 
were soon in motion, and I was received as if I had 
been a long-absent member, just returned. Under 
the influence of friendship, fire, food, and sleep, I 
was, by morning, *' myself again," mauger the 
doubts of my identity, which the glass would seem 
to justify. Looking about me, as I made my toilet, 
I was surprised to find my portmanteau, hat, whip, 
etc., lost in my flight, all restored. Tlie faithful 
Peter had early retraced my steps in the thicket, 
and found these scattered conveniences but a short 
distance from the house. Seated at the breakfast 
table, the aflair of the preceding night had to be 
related to the whole family, who seemed to listen 
with a spirit of sympathy and laughter alternately 
in the ascendant. Sister B. especially, though not 
wanting in pity, rather twitted me, I thought, on 
my want of courage. She was a lady of sound 
piety and cultivated intellect, but rather masculine 
in her constitution, both physically and mentally. 
The perils and privations of a backwoods life had 
strengthened this character. She was infinitely re- 
moved from the mere thing of ribbon and rouge^ 
curls and cosmetics, band-boxes and bustles ; and 
in her denunciation of that prudery; and soft, swoon- 



242 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

ing effeminacy, that considers it a grace to scream 
liysterically at a clap of thunder, and faint at the 
sight of a snake or snail, her tender mercies were 
cruel. The daughter of a man who had eminently 
distinguished himself in the Indian fights of the 
West, in those " times that tried men's souls," and 
the wife of a man who claimed affinity with Daniel 
Boone, the l!^imrod of Kentucky, Sister B. could, at 
least, defend her own poultry from the opossum and 
the catamount ; and, if necessary, could level her 
husband's rifle at the bold buck or bear that might 
leap into the adjacent field. "Wit, too, was a sharp 
weapon in her hands, and with difficulty she resisted 
the temptation to use it, even at the expense of the 
feelings of a friend. With her, as with old pioneers 
generally, the forest had but few terrors. Indeed, 
all seemed to think, that my fears were very dispro- 
portionate to the actual danger. Wolves were very 
common, but instances of their attacking a man on 
horseback were considered exceedingly apocryphal. 
The sheepfold of Brother B., it was believed, at- 
tracted them around his farm, and my position 
between them and their fleecy victims, it was con- 
sidered, was the chief cause of their howling, and 
but for my circuitous movement in the bushes, I 
might have reached the house nearly an hour before 
I did. I had myself, in my alarm, urged my horse 
from the direct path, and thus was my danger con- 



INCIDENTS IN ITINHRANOT. 243 

sidered mostly imaginary, and my troubles imputed 
to timidity. I looked out of the door, and the sun 
of a most lovely and mellow morning was flooding 
creation with an ocean of silvery and golden light. 
Daylight seemed to make a hero of me. I turned 
again to the glass, and resolved that just as soon as 
the scratches upon my beardless phiz no longer re- 
quired explanation, to give no prominence to the 
story of having been " chased by a gang of hungry 
wolves ;" at least while it appeared so problematical 
that I had, myself, been for some time frightening 
the wolves, though not quite as bad as they had 
frightened me. For the sake, however, of the fol- 
lowing finale, I have violated my resolve, and now 
pen the whole story somewhat at my own expense. 

Like illuminated spots in the sun, eccentricities 
become relieving graces when they are seen in the 
effulgence of genius ; and even when they verge to 
extremes and become the defects of genius, in her 
magic light they wear the hues of an attractive en- 
chantment. Hence those that admire, but possess 
but little genius, are always tempted to mimicry, and 
as the defects of genius are most easily imitated, 
these are the first attempted, even at the expense 
of rendering themselves ridiculous. I had heard 
much talk of a preacher whose praise was in all the 
Churches, with whom it was a striking peculiarity 
that he took most singularly odd texts. Tlie follow- 
16 



244 INCIDEN'TS IN ITINERANCY. 

ing had been repeated to me as fair specimens of his 
taste in that particular : " Shem, Ham, and Japhet ;" 
" There are six steps to the throne ;" " I have put 
off my coat ; how shall I put it on ?" " Woe to the 
women that sew pillows to all armholes;" '' Ephraim 
is a cake not turned," etc. Kesolved to vie with my 
popular predecessor in quaint and ear-catching text- 
ualities, I had already preached from the single 
words " Sin," " Religion," and from the interjection 
" Alleluia," and on my last round in this region of 
backwoods, bear meat, and buckskin, I had enlight- 
ened the brawny, staring tenantry of log cabins from 
this : " I am the voice of one crying in the wilder- 
ness." On this occasion of officiating at Brother 
B.'s, I had fixed upon Genesis 22, first clause of 
the 13th verse. My congregation, pedestrian and 
mounted, emerging in "Indian file" from the sur- 
rounding forest, began to assemble from all quarters 
of the " settlement," as was quite common, from two 
to three hours before the time of service. It consist- 
ed of ten or fifteen men, several of whom carried 
guns, and nearly all accompanied by a dog, [it was 
not the Sabbath, and the chance of surprising a deer 
was not to be lost,] and from ten to twenty smoke- 
sallowed matrons, [woman always makes the major- 
ity in approaches to her Maker,] generally happy 
specimens of haleness and obesity, on horseback, 
with a larger child behind and a lesser before, to 



INCIDENTS IN ITINEEANCY. 245 

wLicli may be added several well-grown daughters 
and a proportionate number of the youthful lordly 
sex. Also, an occasional sorrow-stricken widow, 
wliose companion, perhaps, had but just cleared 
enough of his new farm for his cabin yard and early 
grave ; one or two patriarchal "grand-pas," several 
negroes, and now and then an Indian who had lin- 
gered behind his exiled tribe, to die on the dese- 
crated ashes of his ancestors. The greeting of those 
rustic neighbors on "meetin"' days was most cordial, 
and it used to refresh my heart to see it. The elder- 
Jy sisters formed a chatting semicircle around the 
mammoth fire-place, and regaled themselves with 
pipes. Tlie men and brethren chatted in the yard, or 
lounged on the benches and tlie fence. The young 
folks were silent in their bashfulness, occasionally 
summing up sufficient courage to whisper, and in the 
general, looking a very intelligible language. Now 
and then a young man, with a club that would have 
served tlie purpose of Hercules, acted as a special 
peace messenger between two quarrelsome curs, 
who, like some nations, seemed to fight for scarcely 
any other reason than to indulge their love of it. 
All treated the minister with profound respect, and 
waited patiently the hour of worship. Our sanctuary 
was a large, oblong log-house ; two curtainless beds 
stood foot to foot across one end of the room, and a 
little two-feet square window, with oiled paper for 



246 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

glass, aided by the chimneyj sundry crevices and the 
" cat liole" in the door, served to light it. Under 
the window, by the side of a rickety stand, cover- 
ed with a snow white cloth, mounted by the old 
family Bible, a hymn book, and the class book, sat 
the preacher, gravely conning over his sermon, and 
watching a switch-pendulumed Yankee clock for the 
hour to commence. Believe me, dear reader, often 
has the writer in preaching " Jesus and the resurrec- 
tion" to such groups of sturdy yeomanry, who have 
occupied civilization's outposts, communed with 
transport with "Hn^r who dwelt in the bush," and 
felt that he trod on holy ground. Here was none of 
tlie starch, the stiffness, the formalities, the conven- 
tionalities of a fashionable sanctuary to interpose 
between the worshiper and "the throne of the 
heavenly grace." Though rude, all was simple and 
artless. In such reminiscences, we could almost 
wish to recall the realities ; they are spots green and 
sunny in the retrospect of memory. Primitive, pio- 
neering Methodism, will long be fragrant in the 
memory of the Church. 

Precisely at the time all seated themselves in the 
house, but the " brethren of color," who stood jam- 
med in the corners and wedged in the door, reveal- 
ing their ivory in their delight. Tlie intelligence of 
Sister B. in this motley congregation, made her as 
a philosopher among the " plebeians." She was a 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 247 

ruling spirit. Disposed to criticise my faults Avith a 
most unmerciful silence on the subject of my merits, 
she was no small terror to me, being not yet three 
months old in the ministry, on my first circuit, and 
at the age of seventeen. Certainly her look of ap- 
probation, or real, or fiincied disapprobation, had not 
a little to do in assurinoj or disconcertino^ me. With 
a repetition and due emphasis, I arose and read 
for my text, " Behold a ram caught in a thichet hj 
his horns.^^ Sister B. dropped her head, and I 
thought others did the same. I blushed and put 
my hand up to my marred face, the bi-ight furrows 
on which, the looking-glass in the clock just in front 
of me that moment, revealed tlie fact of myself hav- 
ing been " caught in the thicket" the night previous, 
filled my mind with ideas of the ridiculous. All 
thoughts that I would have uttered fled to oblivion. 
The genius of " confusion m.ore confounded" took 
possession of iny sensitive frame. It grew dark 
before me, and the perspiration stood in large drops 
upon my brow. There are but few preachers but 
know something of the unwelcome feelings that suc- 
ceed a pulpit fiiilure. I stammered through my dis- 
course, and was glad when the people dispersed, as I 
wished to ^^t out of siiirht. 

On the evening of the same day, accompanying 
the charitable Peter to the barn to see my horse, as 
a small relief to my mortified feelings, I thought I 



248 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

would "pump him" a little on the subject of the 
sermon. " How did you like the sermon," says I, 
" Peter ?" " O, berry well, berry well, massa, but 
missus says as how your text and scratched face 
make her tink all de time of Abraham's hig sheep 
in de bushes." I learned from that time that sensi- 
ble people will judge something of the taste and 
common sense of a preacher by the texts he takes 



CHAPTEE in. 

To the lonely, benighted, and- bewildered traveler, 
a distant home-light streaming out into the gloom, as 
if to meet him, is gratefully welcome; precious, at 
times, as the star of hope dawning on the darkness 
of destiny. Sparks ascending in flocks from the 
spacious mouth of the "stick chimney," glowing, hurry- 
ing, fading, gone ; fit emblem of life, so soon lost in 
eternity, whither faith, but not sight, may follow 
them ; a lamp flickering through the cabin window, 
or the cheerful hearth-fire shining through the half 
" chinked " walls of rough logs ; the fierce bark from 
a troop of faithful watch-dogs, with a loud shout 
of " Get out !" from the hospitable inmates, as the 
house is approached — are all to the backwoodsman 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 249 

fraught with the " spell of home." A word that 
has but two others — Mother, Heaven — to vie with 
it ill sweetness, and they are of kindred meaning. 
After a hard day's travel through the Cypress 
Swamps that constitute much of the *' Big Bottoms " 
that stretch along the western bank of the Missis- 
sippi in Eastern Missouri, I was minded of my 
approach to a small settlement of '' Squatters " 
embosomed in this Paradise of frogs, Elysium of 
snakes, and Gibraltar of wild " varmints '' by the 
distant twinkling of fire-lights. The day, for night 
had overtaken me, liad been dark and rainy, and 
the damp, chill winds (it was late in autumn) had 
moaned through the yew-like foliage, like lost 
spirits " seeking rest, and finding none." A spirit of 
melancholy, too deep for the tender, sweet, and weep- 
ing inspirations of poetry, had been inspired. The 
fact was, it bordered on the " blues." It had not 
rained very hard, but the low, sluggish clouds seemed 
to have caught and hung in the tops of the tall 
cypress-trees, keeping up an incessant mildew-like 
drizzling. A luxuriant undergrowth, top-heavy with 
wet, bent inward over the narrow " trail," forming at 
places a dark, dripping arcade, and at othei-s droop- 
ing so low as to compel my horse to creep under it 
like a " gopher " in prairie grass, leaving one to 
tear through, or to be torn off, according to the 
" force of circumstances." Every now and then 



260 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

a mnddy, creeping stream or bayou, crossed my 
track, through which I must swim my pony; or, 
as they were generally narrow, the trunk of a 
fallen tree often served me as a bridge, by the side 
of which I could swim my snorting, plunging pony. 
I scarcely need tell the reader that I had been the 
" live long day " wet as a soaked sponge. My 
woolen garments, weighty with wet, seemed to have 
lost the power of resisting cold, and felt like sheets 
of ice. In short, the best image of the idea I had 
of myself, was that of a stone statue in a wet cave. 
I resolved, therefore, on sharing the first shelter, 
and spreading my bearskin and blanket before the 
first fire where I could meet with a welcome that 
did not amount to a prohibition. Eeining up my 
horse in a volume of oblong light that was flung out 
from a huge fire through a rude, half-closed cabin 
door, into the vapory gloom, I hailed the happy 
inmates that were seated in a semicircle around it, 
enjoying themselves with mirth most uproarious. 
The dogs v/ere absent " on duty " as well as their 
master, with the exception of a wee cur, about the 
size of grimalkin, which barked a scream, and with 
disclosed tusks threatened myself and horse with 
immediate annihilation. Little dogs, like little men, 
seldom seem to know they are little. A lady — [ you 
are to understand this word, not in its modern, but in 
its original sense, which was hread-gi/oer~\ — a lady 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 251 

came to the door and inquired, "Whose thar?" I 
told her I was, unworthily, a preacher of the Gospel ; 
a missionary visiting the neighborhood for the first 
time, and that I had been dh-ected to stop at Mr. F.'s. 
She " had heern of me " — " Mr. F. lived five mile 
further up the creek ; I couldn't get there to-night, 
no how ;" she " guessed as how I better stop thar 
all night," though her " husband and Cuba was ofi' 
bear huntin','' but she " spected one or tother would 
be home certain that night" — that there was "a 
mighty good place right by where I could hobble 
out my horse, or I could tie him to a tree and give 
him some blades." During this kind colloquy, the 
little dog, with bristles erect, growled on guard, and 
some half a dozen children, " with just a jeav 
twixt um," gaping with curiosity and shrinking 
with fear, the smaller ones clinging to "mamma," 
and the least sobbing and stifling a scream in his 
fright, stood huddled in the door. Perhaps some 
will call it a whim of mine, or a want of charity; 
but to confess the truth, great talkativeness in a 
woman always excites in me caution, and at least 
a tacit suspicion of mischief. My thoughts will 
recur, in spite of me, to that most innocent and 
persecuted of all creatures, according to her ow}i 
most eloquent showing, the tattler. But the loqua- 
city of our landlady, on this occasion, seemed but to 
assure me of a heartv welcome to her fru2:al home in 



252 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

the wild woods. Continuing, she remarked, *' that 
thar liad been a right smart chance of bears about 
that season," and " that Billy here," pointing to a 
little flaxen-haired, fire-frizzled, barefooted son of 
about ten years, whose face, which was brunetted 
with a fine coat of smoke and bear's oil, was lighted 
up, the meantime, wnth a self-sufficient smile of 
triumph that would have graced a hero — ''Billy 
here," says she, " killed a cub tother day, his lone 
self, so he did !" "With this maternal eulogy the 
young [N'imrod advanced and took the reins of my 
horse, wdiile I dismounted and walked into the 
house, "Trip" disputing my entrance inch by inch, 
the children retreating before me like young par- 
tridges, the mother bidding me welcome, with a 
sharp " get out " to the poodle, a " hush up " to the 
alarmed responsibilities, and with an emphatic com- 
mand to " Ginuy " to " sweep up a little." This 
mandate was executed forthwith, to the great annoy- 
ance of my asthmatic breathing organs, by the 
stirring, most lustily, of some half an inch of ashes 
and dust on a dirt hearth and "puncheon" floor, 
with a bunch of broom corn bound up wdth a tow 
string. 

It is a fact as common as it is unfortunate that 
from the highest to the lowest state of civilization, 
unexpected visitors are always sure to drop in just 
when the house is most out of order and needs 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 253 

sweeping tlie most, not to name the fact that the 
children on such occasions are sure to be not only 
in their worst fix, but more troublesome than on 
any other occasions. At least my old mother — 
green be the turf above her tear-dewed grave ! — 
my mother, and her testimony is corroborated by 
the ladies generally — my mother, I say, used to 
say so apologetically, to such droppers in, as she 
would call me to her, on such occasions, and stroke 
back my tangled, floating locks, and rebuke me 
for carelessly soiling and tearing my clothes so 
much, and making such a "litter." Tlien taking 
my age for a text, which the visitor in compliment 
had asked, she was wont to wind up by treating 
him to a dissertation on my precocious genius. 
Reader, even now I feel, in fancy, the impress of 
that soft hand upon my throbbing brow. Such 
events are associated with the proudly joyous mo- 
ments of our earl}^ existence — the balmy memories 
of other da3^s, forever fled, which we fondly sum- 
mon from the past, to come and fold their soft 
wings about our saddened hearts, burdened with 
the stern, cold realities of riper years. 

After a sumptuous supper of " corn-dodger," 
bear-beef, butter-milk, and wild lioney, I had time 
to look around me, address myself to such specific 
duty of my " high calling" as the occasion required, 
and retire to rest. I had so far tamed the children, 



254 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

that several of them stood kissing (their faces had 
undergone abhition while I was at supper — a rare 
circumstance, I should think,) without crying. 
Soon two of the little neglected triflers' consented 
to sit on my knee, a bold step, which I was very 
careful to reward. The mother seemed much de- 
liglited. Having secured the confidence of all, I 
introduced the subject of religion. And here, in 
its simplest elements, I was at once beyond the 
depth of my household auditory. The boys had 
never been to school — "had no larnin'" — "never 
hearn anybody pray but once, and that was at a 
buryin' when Mrs. W. died with the ager and fever" 
— "they never seed a Bible, and never knowed it 
was wrong to go coonin' on Sunday" — " they never 
had goed to meetin', but would like to." Reader, 
my heart seemed to break over this little semi-civ- 
ilized, benighted group, as I spoke to them of sin 
and a Saviour. But how was I shocked on turning 
to a mother and asking her if she knew of the death 
of Jesus, when she exclaimed, "Is he dead?" — "Well 
we had hearn out here of the death of Franklin, and 
Washin'ton, and all the great Injun fighters, but 
never hiowed afore that Jesus was deadP'^ 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 255 



CHAPTER lY. 

Though sorrowful of lieart, I was much refreshed 
in my weariness from the ample bounty of the rude 
board, the warmth of the huge fire, blazing in a 
chimney Avhich occupied nearl}^ one end of the 
liouse, and before which I lingered long, for the 
twofold purpose of drying my clothing and of 
being up when my hunting host or his hopeful son 
should return. Child after child nodded around me, 
obstinately refusing to go to bed, wdiile stories of 
rare adventure in fishing, bee and bear hunting, 
snake-killing, and dangers from "Injuns" in early 
times, w^ere related to me with a rare fluency and 
naturalism, and in the jpatois of the squatter, by 
mine lady of the manor. I finally proposed prayer 
and retirement, as the latter had become a necessity, 
for sleep had overpowered me. Kneeling amid 
the little group, but one or two of whom followed 
my example, I commended the household to God. 
Opening my eyes in the devotion, a most singular 
spectacle presented itself. The hospitable but illit- 
erate mother, with her children, who were pagans 
in all that pertained to prayer, sat or stood looking 
at me in an attitude of mute surprise, that suggested, 



256 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

in spite of m^'self, the commingled emotions of pity 
and of ridiculousness. Such, reader, are some of 
the positions in which the backwoods missionary, a 
quarter of a century ago, found himself placed in 
the wild* of Missouri and Arkansas. He was the 
first teacher and civilizer who reached this class ; 
a class occupying a position between civilization 
and barbarism, so doubtful, that one was often in 
difficulty on wliich side of the line to classify them. 
A class, however, we are happy to say, who gave 
the missionary a cordial welcome, and who were 
readily susceptible to religious impressions. 

I was kindly pointed to the resemblance of a 
bed in the corner of the room, on to which I threw 
myself, with my dried overcoat for a covering, and 
was soon lost in sleep so profound, that on awaken- 
ing at a late hour in the morning, it seemed as if a 
few hours of my conscious existence had been blotted 
out. Not even a fragment of a half-remembered 
dream could I recall. 1 w^as, however, completely 
refreshed, and as I looked from my humble cot, the 
w^arm breakfast smoked upon the rude table, and the 
kind mother was busily engaged in preserving a 
strict silence for my benefit. For the last two hours 
she had probably guarded my slumbers. Every- 
thing about the cabin partook of an air of increased 
neatness over the preceding evening. Golden sun- 
light was streaming through places in its side, where 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 257 

the chinking had escaped. The door was open, and 
the yard had received a scavenger's services. The 
feet of deer, bones, and other fragments of a hnnter's 
"victory, were all removed to an appropriate distance. 
Even the little dog seemed reconciled to my visit, 
and, curled up like a caterpillar, laid close by the 
side of my bed. I at once felt at home. The scene, 
too, was fruitfully suggestive. Wherever the mis- 
sionary goes domestic cleanliness whitens on his 
pathway. Eeligion is a great face washer. Give a 
squalid people the Bible, and favor them with a 
pastor's presence, and the use of soap and sand will 
commence at once greatly to increase. The man 
physical is as suddenly elevated by the presence of 
Christianity, as was St. Peter aroused by the touch 
of an angel. In these ruder strata of society, it is 
not to be ranked among the least blessings which the 
itinerant evangelist dispenses in his career, that 
whenever and wherever the preacher is expected, 
increased attention is paid to pei'sonal and household 
neatness. The preacher, therefore, who should be a 
boor or a sloven, whatever his other excellences 
might be, would so far fail in the requisite qualifica- 
tions of his office. 

I arose at once, and as to my toilet, it only needed 
a little adjustment, and after walking to the stream 
near by, and taking a thorough ablution, I felt again 
those pulsations of being, that enabled me for once 



258 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

to do as Combe has suggested a healthy, grateful, 
feeling man should always do : set my foot upon the 
firm earth, and " thank the great I AM that / am 
too." The sky over me was cloudless and deeply 
blue, the sun seemed rejoicing on his journey, and 
though the autumnal winds sighed through the 
forest and scattered the foliage of the deciduous 
trees, I was as buoyant as children about a May-pole 
on that gala day. I was ready to resume my journey 
" five miles further up the creek." The larger boy, 
who had killed the cub his " lone self," had faithfully 
groomed my horse, and adventured to accompany 
me from the house, w^hile the other children peeped 
at me from around the log corners and through the 
crevices. I was minded by my little hero that break- 
fast was in waiting. Just at this moment, however, 
two or three large curs, as if acting as heralds, came 
leaping into the door yard, barking a good morning, 
and shaking their great tails and throwing their 
huge paws upon the shoulders of the children, who, 
understanding the whole, exclaimed with delight, 
" Dad and Cuba is come." The good wife immedi- 
ately left the house to meet her returning husband, 
while our little hero above mentioned kept me com- 
pany, and reconciled me to the dogs, or, rather, the 
dogs to me. " Dad" and Cuba were both mounted, 
and were now at haaid, and though they brought no 
" bar" as a trophy of their success, the horse of the 



INCIDENTS IN ITINEKANCY. 269 

foraier was burdened with a fine buck, and Cuba had 
strung over the back of his some fine wild turkeys. 
As the wife met her husband, a pause ensued, and it 
was by no means difiicult to divine the topic of con- 
versation. In a few moments, all came up to the 
door, to which with every child I repaired like one 
of the family. The introduction of mine hostess con- 
sisted simply in pointing me to the man on horse- 
back, and telling me that he was her husband. I 
approached him w^ith the readiest familiarity, and 
was received with a cordiality which seemed to say, 
" I am not sorry to find you here." This was grate- 
ful. In a very brief space of time, son and father 
had disposed of their game and horses, had washed 
the blood from their hands, and joined us at break- 
fast. They had been unsuccessful in a bear chase, 
became belated, stayed all night at a neighbor's, and 
had taken those fine spoils of Nimrod, above men- 
tioned, on their return home, on that morning. If 
our good friend had seemed pleased out of doors, he 
actually seemed more so when he came in, a state of 
feeling Avliich we have reason to believe the unusu- 
ally neat adjustment in which he found his home, 
contributed not a little. Like his spouse, he had 
" heern" of me, " knowed little about preachers," but 
"if they had come to his cabin, he had kind o' liked 
to see 'em.*' He had "heern from neighbor S., five 

miles further up the crick, that I was mighty smart; 

17 



260 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

thought he'd go to ineetin' some day ; I musn't leave 
thai' that day any how ; that he had gone off, leavin' 
his wife with nothin' to eat; that I must stop and 
have some turkey and venison." To all these ex- 
pressions of kindness and hospitality, I made appro- 
priate responses, informing my kind retainer that I 
must pursue my journey that morning, as I was ex- 
pected at Mr. S.'s, where I was to hold meeting 
twice on the following day, which was the Sabbath. 
I also urged the attendance of himself and wife, on 
which request she looked at her namelessly colored 
dress, and he at his hunting-shirt, but said nothing. 
I repeated my request with a promise, if they would 
do so, I would try and visit them again in some six 
weeks. Finally, he exclaimed, " Old woman, if we 
are poor, w^e are as well off as our neighbors. I 
guess as how we'll go up to Squire S.'s to-morrow." 
Assuring them that I should be much disappointed 
if I did not see them, and bidding them a cordial 
good-by, with many thanks for their kindness, I re- 
sumed my journey up the creek. When at some dis- 
tance from the house, glancing behind, I still saw 
the whole family in the yard looking after me. 
Reader, such is one of the hopes of the missionary. 
I felt that an open door was there set before me, and 
murmuring one of the only two tunes I could ever 
sing perfectly, Old Hundred, rode joyfully on my 
journey. I ought to liave said, that my mind was 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 201 

much relieved in reference to the stolid ignorance of 
the poor woman, when on the morning I again ad- 
verted to our Saviour as dying for sinners, she sua- 
denly exclaimed, as if mortified at her own mistake 
of the evening before, " O, you mean Christ of the 
Bible, don't ye ?" " Certainly I do," said I. " O, she 
had heern about that, and knowed a heap once, but 
she believed they never would know anythin' if they 
didn't go to meetin'." 

Yes, thought I, "goin' to meetin'" at the call of 
the devoted itinerant, has always been the beginning 
of wisdom and germ of civilization to the denizens of 
the first cabins that thinly dotted the West ; the men 
of the hunting-shirt, ax, and rifle. When the agen- 
cies that constructed society in the "great West" 
that was, shall be truthfully symbolized on an appro- 
priate monument, the Methodist Hymn Book, Dis- 
cipline, and the Bible, will appear first in the design, 
in juxtaposition with the saddle-bags, ax, and the 

RIFLE. 



262 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 



CHAPTEE Y. 

I SOON arrived at tlie cabin of Brother S., "five 
miles iTirtlier up the creek," a phrase, by the way, 
which must be only miderstood to mean the follow- 
ing along the banks of a sluggish, muddy stream, 
constituting the connecting link between one swamp 
or morass — sometimes called lakeS' — and another. 
By the earthquake of 1811-12, a large portion of 
this part of Missouri, including a million and a half 
of acres, was sunk from one to six feet lower than 
the rest of the world. Immense forests of moss- 
bearded cypress, ash, and sugar-maple, descended 
with the surface, and still stand, the most of the trees 
dead, and dropping down piecemeal, like the limbs 
of the doomed victims of the gibbet, into the turbid 
waters beneath ; the whole surface being covered 
with an immense web of rotting timber. The spec- 
tacle is a peculiar and melancholy one, and looks as 
if nature here had resorted to an execution. All 
over this region under which the earthquake slum- 
bers, are to be found small districts of country which 
were not submergec^, and at this early day, had been 
returned, as not worth the price of surveying. The 
land, however, is fertile, abounds in mast and wild 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 263 

game, and hence, the class of sqnatters described 
sought these spots to live free from the tax-gatherer, 
to take possession of the soil upon the principles that 
Adam did, and engage in the pleasures and emolu- 
ments of the chase with very little danger of that 
annoyance which Daniel Boone always feared, "of 
having neighbors settle too near to him." Why the 
miasma of these interminable marshes did not sweep 
away these adventurers like the sirocco of the desert, 
I was never able satisfactorily to determine.^ I no- 
ticed, however, that the waters were highly colored 
and thoroughly impregnated with the terebinthine 
principle of the cypress everywhere abounding. 
Thus may nature have provided its own catholicon. 
The inhabitants are generally healthy. 

The house of Brother S. stood upon the side of a 
gentle ascent, facing an extended view of this Golgo- 
tha of dying and rotting forests. It was a double 
cabin of logs, with porch and hall, and he being one 
of the oldest inhabitants, it was regarded as rather 
an aristocratic residence. Cattle and swine, however, 
had free access to the very door, and as the soil was 
soft just after the rain, there was much adhesiveness 
just where the thrifty ISTew-Englander takes care 
that there shall be none. On the ends and sides of 
the house were stretched deer, a-accoon, and other 
skins, drying for use. A huge stick chimney graced 
each end of the building, and just in the rear and a 



264 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

little furtlier up the ascent, stood a comical nonde- 
script little cabin, not far from which, a spring of ap- 
parently pm*e water bubbled up, and after being 
guided for some distance by the trunk of a hollow 
tree, it leaped out and went laughing away to the 
lake. I was looked for, and the porch was occupied 
with our good friend and one or two of his sturdy 
sons, with several watch-dogs ; a face as black a£ 
Egypt, the meanwhile, peering out the little cabin 
behind and looking for my arrival. The moment ] 
hove in sight, every dog leaped toward me with an 
uproarious bark, all arose, and with shouts of " Get 
out," I was cordially welcomed to this, one of the 
oldest preaching-places in the region, known in that 
day as " Below the swamp." " Come, light," was 
the cheering greeting, and I was soon seated in the 
porch, my horse cared for, in the enjoyment of all 
those pleasures which a whole-hearted w^elcome, 
given to one on the pathway of duty, imparts. I 
was quickly told that I was to be met there by a fel- 
low-itinerant, (and it was a rare thing in those days 
and regions for one Methodist preacher to be favored 
with the society and assistance of another ;) that they 
had made arrangements for services that afternoon 
and in the evening ; that my coming had been care- 
fully made known for a distance of many miles, and 
that to-morrow we must have a love-feast, and as 
many more sermons as we were able to preach, 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 265 

Sister S. exclaiming at the same time, that " as I was 
to come to see them so mighty few times, and as that 
was the first time, they were a-going to try and have 
a good time." In the meantime, I looked about me, 
and saw that the action had been suited to the words, 
and that ample preparation had been made for this 
spiritual festival in the way of mending superannua- 
ted benches, and also the making of several new ones. 
I also noticed, that in addition to the home-made 
bedsteads, generally constructed from fence-rails, two 
additional ones had been put up by the insertion of 
poles in the cracks of the cabin, supported at the op- 
posite end with dogwood forks, the whole done in the 
highest style of the art, and wearing an air of invit- 
ing neatness. For be it known here, to you people 
of parlors and pianos, of sitting-rooms, dormitories, 
carpeted and upholstered churches, that all this para- 
phernalia of civilization would have been as much of 
a mystery to the audience that assembled at Brother 
S's. as the furniture of Solomon's Temple, or the re- 
cently exhumed wonders of old ITineveh ; and that 
the presence of beds, such as described, were but lit- 
tle in the way in a log-cabin audience-room, as the 
ladies generally, most economically, in the case of a 
crowd, occupied every inch of their surface. Know- 
ing this to be the case, I looked to the newly-con- 
structed bedsteads with some apprehension, but sai4 
HQthing. 



266 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

By this time the audience had commenced to 
assemble. In Indian file, rudely mounted, with 
hunting-shirt, coon-skin caps, and often with rifle 
on the shoulder, wife behind and child before, they 
came like doves to the windows. Sister S. smiled 
in delight. Brother S. was all politeness by shout- 
ing as loud as a sea captain, " Oome, light, neighbor 
B." ''What do you sit there for. Brother C. ? ride 
up to the porch here ;" when all at once, two braces 
of ivory set in ebony, appeared in the person of 
Aunt Susan and Uncle Billy from the Liliputia]i 
cabin in the rear of the house, a sufficient explana- 
tion of its use. Bench after bench was stowed in 
the receiving room, hall, and porch. Strange steeds 
meeting from afar, neighed either defiance or wel- 
come. Dogs, of which there were nearly as many 
as people, barked or growled. 'Now and then a 
child would cry, and now a loud, jovial laugh 
from a rotund matron, as she met a sister spirit, 
and they both drew out cob-pipes with cane tubes, 
for a friendly smoke, and thus all was activity ; 
joy and expectation ruled the hour. The preacher 
was looked to by many as a rara avis. Few ven- 
tured to obtrude their acquaintance upon him, 
but assisted by Brother S. and Sister S., he took 
all by the hand, and kissed all the babies whom 
he presumed it would not frighten into a scream; 
but in exercising his caution in this direction, con- 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 267 

fesses to the weakness of being governed mnch by 
appearances. The audience increases, and my col- 
league has arrived. The time of service has an-ived 
also. Order is restored in Warsaw, and the voice of 
praise rings out from this extemporized temple in 
this vast wilderness, hallowing the Gothic forest 
aisles. It is something to sing or hear sung for the 
first time, at these outposts of civilization, some of 
those good old hymns embalmed in immortality, 
such as, 

"Come, thou Fount of every blessing;" 

"Jesus, my all, to heaven is gone ;" 

" for a thousand tongues to sing," etc. 

It has since fallen to my lot to stand in the pulpits 
of sundry of our city edifices, sacred to eternity, 
appropriately ornamented w^ith every mechanical 
beauty that might gratify the taste and quicken 
the esthetics of a people, and to hear the voice 
of the congregation blend with the solemn discourse 
of the organ, and I have felt at home. But believe 
me, dear reader, when I say that I never felt to 
tread holier ground, never felt more magnified by 
my holy ofiice, than did I feel that day at Brother 
S.'s. ISTor w^as that the only time that a gush of 
gladness spouting from my heart, blended with a 
sense of unworthiness to enjoy tlie privilege of 
seeking after just such lost sheep in the wilderness 



268 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

as these. In preaching, I had great liberty and 
profound attention, accompanied by an occasional 
sob and groan, and emphatic amens from my assist- 
ants and the members of the small class there organ- 
ized. It would seem, however, that I was too didac- 
tic and wanting in the powers of exhortation, for 
when my brother, an employ^ under the elder, 
and so limited in a knowledge of letters that he 
could not read an unfamiliar hymn correctly, arose, 
he soon distanced me, quite, in his power over the 
audience. And though he exhorted nearly as long 
as I preached, he never seemed to leave the theme 
of "dying a shouting," "going to Jesus," and "meet- 
ing our relatives in glory." The policy of Provi- 
dence in preacher-making in the history of Method- 
ism has always been, to choose some men on a 
perfect level with the people with whom the}'' 
were to labor, in intellectual resources and power. 
Such men have had their mission, and been the 
priinic7n mobile of a pioneering Methodism. I will 
here fling a green wreath to their memories, as they 
have beat me in preaching very often, if discourses 
are to be judged of by present effects upon the 
audience. Brother !N"eal was one of these, and the 
road to his heart was that which led to the hearts 
of his neighbors. Though the most contented peo- 
ple with this earth that we ever saw, the idea of 
getting to such a heaven, in such a way, seemed 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 269 

absolutely irresistible in its fascinations. His word 
was with power. Some screamed, another hooted, 
a third fell, a few seemed affrighted, while a few 
othere, initiated into such scenes, shouted in true 
orthodox style. And no one did this matter up 
better than did Aunt Susa, who had taken her 
place in the back end of the hall. She flew up 
and down, straight and steady as a shuttle in a 
weaver's loom, with the word "Glory" warbling 
from her lips, while Uncle Billy sat shaking and 
grinning in inexpressible delight through his tears. 
Among the extemporized bedsteads, things did not 
fare so well. My anticipated fears were fully real- 
ized. Those upon them leaping to their feet, and 
some of them shouting for joy in a manner that 
would have minded Peter at Pentecost of the opulent 
announcements of prophecy, first one came down 
with a crash, which causing the occupants of the oth- 
er simultaneously to make a move toward evacua- 
tion, it also gave way, and fat women and babies — 
there were no lean ones there — tumbled flat upon the 
puncheon floor with a rattle and a crash. The tide 
of devotion, however, ebbed not for a moment, and 
my good brother continued to expatiate upon his 
theme, always so welcome to the heart, here, con- 
scious of its absence from home, and which has been 
so beautifully described by the rainbow-tinted pen of 
the poet : 



270 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

"0, the joys tliat are there, mortal eye hath not seen! 
O, the songs they sing there, with hosannas between! 
O, the thriced-blessed song of the Lamb and of Moses ! 
O, brightness on brightness, the pearl-gate uncloses ! 
O, white wings of angels! O, fields white with roses! 
O, white tents of peace, where the rapt soul reposes ! 
O, the waters so still, and the pastures so green!" 

He sat down exhausted. The audience sung, and I 
waited for a lull in the extravagant height of feeling 
to which they had been carried, to announce the 
future order of the day, and to bring on the benedic- 
tion. By suffering everything to abide its time, all 
came around right, and after ascertaining that one 
poor- backslider had been reclaimed, two or three 
sinners pricked in the heart, we paused for bodily re- 
freshment, and for the resumption of services in the 
evening. 

Some thirty of the audience, which consisted of 
about forty, tarried in response to the urgent and 
hospitable invitation of Brother S. Backwoods din- 
ners I have already described, and as to the service 
of the evening and those of the following day, they 
were as the one just described, only more abundant. 
I rejoiced exceedingly on Sabbath morning, to see in 
the audience my kind host and hostess, introduced to 
the reader in the foregoing chapter. But my joy 
was heightened into ecstasy, when, under the sermon, 
I saw both bend their heads like a willow bough and 
weep like whipped children. Prevailing upon the 



INCIDENTS IN ITINEKANCY. 271 

husband to suifer Lis wife to stay on Sabbatli even- 
ing, I saw her happily converted at the anxious-seat, 
and her first shout was, "Glory to the Christ of the 
Bible !" 

Monday morning came, and in counting up the 
results of the meeting, w^e found that about one 
third of our audience had been converted, doubling 
the number of the small class at this point. All 
passed to their homes, apparently delighted and 
solemnized by the occasion, and I was alone with 
our kind brother and sister and fiimily, and though 
wearied, great peace was my portion, wondering at 
the great things the Lord had done for us. The sky 
was cloudless, and the autumnal sunlight seemed 
greatly increased in mellowness, and nature's breath 
seemed ambrosial with odoi's from the better land. 
My ears still seemed to retain the untaught war- 
blings of the notes of revival song, and while, as I 
walked out in the forest shade, the loosened leaf 
came slowly eddying down at my feet, reminding 
me of man's autumn and destiny, the winds the 
meanwhile gently moaning through the tops of 
the cypress, I seemed in rapt communion with two 
worlds, and patiently resigned to live at once in 
either, when suddenly I was reminded of the snake 
in Eden, by a most hideous and deadly-fanged one 
at my feet. I started suddenly back, and armed 
myself for the duty of bruising his head. In 



272 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

returning to the house, I related mj adventure to 
Brother and Sister S., with blank cheek and trem- 
bling nerve, Uncle Billy peeping in at the door at 
the same time, the impertinent fellow, chuckling over 
my fears. "Why," said I, "Uncle Billy, what do 
you laugh for?" Assured by my familiarity, he 
snatched the fragment of what had once been a hat 
from his woolly pate, and exclaimed, " Why, Massa 
Watson, I laughs at you bein' so 'stonished of killin' 
one snake of a mornin', when sometimes I has to kill 
a half a dozen." I shuddered from top to toe, ex- 
claiming, "Snaky coimtry this. Uncle Billy." "Wall, 
Brudder W., dat is, Massa Watson," advancing two 
steps further into the room, " if you and massa dare, 
will take a ride wid me in my perogue, on de lake 
down dar, to-morrow, de way I show you snakes be a 
caution ; dat sartin." I immediately struck with Uncle 
Billy for a ride with him into snakedom on the fol- 
lowing morning, the incidents of which journey, con- 
stituting, as they do, emphatically, a " snake" story, 
with the rare quality of being a true one, I must 
reserve for another brief chapter. 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 278 



CHAPTER VI. 

In the foregoing chapter, the reader has had a 
ghince at the features of an old-fashioned " two-days' 
meeting," in this early day, at these out-posts. Two 
days' rest to the preacher were generally found 
necessary following such an effort. Tuesday morning 
had arrived, my weariness was relieved, and I was 
prepared to join " Uncle Billy " on an adventure into 
the swamp to see its ''lions," and especially its snakes. 
It is yet early in the morning, however, and the cold 
rain of a few nights- since renders it necessary that we 
wait until the hot hours of the forenoon. I will seek 
a brief interview with Aunt Susa, in her little cabin. 

" Good morning. Aunt Susa," said I, as I stepped 
into her quarters. 

" Why, good mornin', Massa Watson : laws o' 
marcy, dis no place for de likes o' you."' 

" Why," said I, " Aunt Susa, have you some 
places here too good for me ?" and saying this, I 
advanced toward a little mantle-shelf and seized 
Susa's pipe, together with some nice tobacco leaves 
of her own raising, and was preparing to regale my- 
self a little, when she flew toward me, exclaiming : 

" Massa, you no shall smoke wid dat pipe ; it no 



274 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

go in your moiif arter havin' been in dis chi?-d's 
dirty monf, dat sartin. Here be a new pipe, an^ a 
mighty good un, too ; an' like to the colt, de foal ob 
an ass, we read ob, massa, which no one neber ride 
afore, no one has eber smoked in it." And here she 
commenced filling it up as I threw myself into the 
rude resemblance of a chair. 

" Susa," said I, " where did you learn to quote 
Scripture ?" 

" Why, massa, blessed be your lips, I larn much 
from de preachers ; but dar, massa, look dar, by 
de side ob ye !" when, turning around, my delighted 
eyes rested upon a well-soiled, well-thumbed, old- 
fashioned Bible, that had recently received an addi- 
tional covering of buckskin. 

" Susa," said I, " where did you get this ?" 

''I brings it from old Tennessee," said she, "twenty 
years ago;" saying which, she handed me the new 
pipe, on the top of which she had balanced a coal 
from the hearth. Inhaling a whiff or two, said I : 

" Susa, can you read ?" 

" Yes, massa, blessed be God, I reads mighty well 
for de likes ob me ; do de hard words are a great 
bother — some ob which I skips ; but I hab read dat 
Bible dar a mighty heap ; read it from de apostle 
Solomon all de way to the prophet Saul ; but reads 
de most in dat part whar Jesus be on de earth, it 
bein' de most easy." 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 2YS 

" Can Uncle Billy read ?" I asked. 

" [N'o ; lie say lie too old to larn, now ; but he set 
here an' smoke ob nights, an' listen mighty close to 
what I reads. lie tinks it be enough for I to know 
how to read." 

" Who learned yon to read, Snsa ?" 

'' Well, now, dat be a funny question, kase if I tell 
you, I fear you won't believe me, nohow." 

'' Why, yes," said I, " Susa, I will believe you." 

" Well, den, I tell ye it was de angels. I no know 
how to read, an' I lays an' cries an' prays about it ob 
nights ; I den goes to sleep an' dreams about it, an' 
most ebery niglit for a year I prays an' cries an' 
takes up my Bible, when one night it seem as if an 
angel come down, an' I don't know whether I 'wake 
or 'sleep, I sees all de letters in de book, an' it say to 
me, ' Dis be a, an' dat b, an' dat c,' an' so on ; an' 
arter a little while I gits up, I opens my Bible, when 
I knows most ebery letter. Next morning, young 
Massa Tom, who know'd how to read, come in here 
to nm bullets, when I axed him, says I, 'Tom, does 
you call dese letters dis V ' Why, yes,' says he, ' you 
old fool, you.' '[N'ow,' says I, 'Tom, you'll want 
some ob my good bacca soon, an' if you 'buse me 
dat way you no get it.' ' Well,' says he, ' Aunt Sue, 
if you'll run my bullets for me dis momin', I'll 
come in here to-night an' show you a heap about 

readin'.' So I run Tom's bullets, and he comes at 

18 



2 76 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANOT. 

night, an' I larns mightily. But Tom wouldn't lam 
me long, anyhow. So I told him dat I find him in 
bacca an' run his bullets always, if he larn me a 
little now an' den. "Well, Tom did ; an' you see dat 
it was de angel fust, an' Tom next, dat start me on in 
readin'. An' O ! what a blessed ting it is ; I would 
rather die dan gib up my Bible; an' I'se been a 
readin' dis mornin' ; but before I say dat, I tell you 
again I neber should read a hooter but for dat 
angel." 

Here I was for a moment profoundly grave at the 
mysteries of the imagination; and then smiling at 
the garrulous old saint's credulity, said I: 

" Susa, what is that you have been reading this 
morning ?" 

" Why, as I was say in', I was readin' in Ge-nee-sis 
about dat sarpint dat was more sutty dan de oder 
cattle ob de field, which I spose mean dat he be 
brack, kase he came from dat place whar de wicked 
go dat burn all de while wid fire an' brimstone." 

Here I smiled again, over this new exegesis, and 
said : 

" Aunt, what did you read about the old serpent 
for this morning ?" 

" O, I hardly knows ; I guess kase Uncle Billy tell 
me you gwine snake huntin' to-day, an' kase as how 
it say de sons ob de woman shall bruise dar heads." 

Here I paused to simplify the theology of this 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 277 

"blessed passage, which I feared this simple saint had 
understood too literally, when she exclaimed that she 
"had often kind ob thought dat !" and that Jesus to 
her " was de sweetest name under de sun ;" and that 
she loved to sing, ^ 

" Jesus, my all, to heaven is gone." 

A stave of which, with dampened eyes, she had 
already struck up, when Uncle Billy's arrival an- 
nounced all things in readiness for our tour in the 
swamp. 

Accompanied by young Massa Tom, and the cam- 
paign headed by Uncle Billy, each with a rifle on 
the shoulder, we were soon at the edge of the lake, 
or morass, to which reference lias been made. Fol- 
lowing along its low shore some half a mile, my 
nerves were gradually schooled to the test to which 
they were to be subjected by frecpently meeting 
with his snakeship, that literally swarm in some 
parts of these morasses. It is not the ordinary water 
snake, but a lazy, sluggish, and arrow-mouthed, 
poisonous reptile, called by the swampers the " moc- 
casin-mouthed snake." He executes his bite but 
clumsily, which greatly lessens the danger of his 
presence, and he seldom leaves the shores of these 
unsightly marshes but a few yards ; another most 
fortunate circumstance ; and in the season of the 
year already referred to, they seem to be congrega- 



278 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

ting for winter-quarters, which may account some- 
what for what we shall in a moment detail. The 
bite of this reptile is deadly, quite as much so as that 
of the rattlesnake or copperhead. I was informed 
that swine very readily devour them, which item of 
information I should have felt quite as well not to 
have received, as I had been enjoying at Brother 
S.'s the luxury of some well-smoked side bacon, 
along with some krout and corn dodger. At the 
next meal I felt my preference for venison very 
much to predominate. We soon arrived at Billy's 
canoe, and in the center of the rocking thing I was 
seated, with Uncle Billy and Massa Tom in either 
end. Two paddles soon sent us some distance out 
into tlie muddy and shallow waters, and amid the 
huge trunks of fallen trees and conical tussocks 
which constitute the musk-rat's home. Snake after 
snake soon began to make its appearance coiled 
upon almost every square inch of surface. On a 
single log I counted ten, ourselves not more than 
ten feet from them. I shuddered, and armed with a 
big club, was constantly assuming attitudes of defense, 
while Uncle Billy shook his burly sides in imperti- 
nent laughter, and Massa Tom amused himself by 
seeing how many decapitations he could make by a 
given number of shots. On we paddled, and more 
numerous became the snake3. Occasionally they 
splashed about the sides of our bobbing nautilus; 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 279 

and now, as we passed under the low limb of a tree, 
Billy would knock tliem off with his paddle almost 
into the canoe. I remonstrated, pleaded, hallooed, 
but could procure no retreat. Tom went on with his 
snake shooting ; Uncle Billy paddled us further and 
farther into this pandemonium, when the horrible 
idea took possession of my mind that should we tip 
over, (an event by no means improbable,) what posi- 
tion could be conceived of more horrible than thus to 
be tumbled into tlie very toils of a thousand detesta- 
ble reptiles, amid mud and quicksands ! From en- 
treating I became peremptory, and Uncle Billy 
paused. When at a safe distance from the detesta- 
ble " varmints," we counted all that were visible. I 
counted one hundred and fifty snakes, the furthest of 
which was not fifty feet from me. When thoroughly 
satisfied that what Uncle Billy had said about " de 
way he would show me snakes was a caution, dat 
sartin," was no exaggeration, we returned to the 
shore and to our home. 

With Tom and Uncle Billy the sight w^as common- 
place. Upon my mind it had a far different effect. 
It was the reality of more than I had ever read or 
dreamed about horrible dens of serpents, whole regions 
now and then strewed with rattlesnakes, etc. I said 
little more than to remark that "it was a m^ighty 
snaky country there," at which Uncle Billy laughed. 
I spent the rest of the day in reading my Bible. But 



280 INCIDENTS IN ITINEKANCY. 

with me, as with Aunt Susan, the subject of 
"sarpints" became rather obtrusive. But if my 
waking thoughts were of snakes, my dreaming ones 
that night greatly exaggerated the whole matter. 
My sleep was as much interrupted as if I had been 
the doomed Medusa. The want of sleep steadied my 
nerves toward morning, so that sweet sleep, oblivious, 
triumphed for a refreshing season. I awoke at an 
hour rather late, and if my first thoughts were not 
of "sarpints," my earliest ones, nolens "oolens^ cer- 
tainly were. Opening my eyes, what should I see 
directly over my bed, protruding from a knot-hole in 
one of the rough logs, but the head of a detestable 
snake. At first I thought I dreamed, and it could 
not be a reality, when, watching my loathsome 
visitor for an instant, I saw the head turn, and 
the forked tougue protrude, but I saw no more. 
In an instant I was on the floor, and seizing the 
most indispensable of my wardrobe, I retreated to 
the hall with a scream, that secured the anxious 
presence of Susa in a trice. I told her what I had 
witnessed, and pointed to the knot-hole over my bed, 
not doubting but there were one or two others in mj 
bed, if she would but look. At that moment the 
head of a little harmless reptile, with a white )'ing 
about its neck, again made free to take observ- 
ation from the knot-hole. As we were joined by 
one and another of the members of the family, old 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 281 

Aunt Susa's langh, which had commenced with 
the first sight of the cause of m}^ fears, became per- 
fectly obstreperous. 

" Why, massa, dat no more'n a little bit ob a milk 
snake, an' he no more bite dan a worm. Dey come 
back ob de house here to de spring-house to steal my 
milk, an' I kills one ebery now an' den, an' dey does 
climb up de corners ob de house, for I seed one 
dar toder day, an' struck it wid my broom. I spose 
dat log hollow, an' he creep in dar. But if it war 
full ob such snakes dar be no danger, dat sartin." 

Taking it thus coolly, and with such provoking 
sympathy for my fears. Aunt Susa retired to com- 
plete her breakfast, when, as she retired, I sent this 
rebuke after her: said I, "Aunt Susan, I hope that 
snake will get into your bed to-night, that we 
may see how easily you will be frightened," when, 
remembering my lecture in the morning, she wittily 
retorted : 

"Preachers dat come into dese woods to bruise de 
head ob dat old sarpint, de debil, musn't be fright- 
ened into a fit at de sight ob a milk snake." 

There was much more in Aunt Susa's retort than 
she herself comprehended. It was fruitfully sugges- 
tive. Yes, thought I, the missionary of these woods 
must not be a man of starch and buckram, of taper 
Angel's and tender stomach, kid gloves and broad- 
cloth, velvet slippers and spotless linen. Here, the 



282 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

stalwart form, the brawny fist, the hunting-shirt, 
with Bible and Discipline under one arm, and rifle 
on the other, are the best representatives of the 
missionary. Like John in the wilderness, he must 
wear what the people wear, and eat what the people 
eat, asking no questions. Yes, Aunt Susan, he must 
not be afraid of snakes. If gifted in the tact of 
his holy calling, his education and refinement will 
only aid him to adapt himself to thiese ruder paths of 
life, and cause him to be a guide, light, and example 
upon them. But if wanting in this tact, his timidity, 
and, in some respects, his manifested superiority, will 
not be aj)preciated. What would be natural in 
another latitude would here be prudery. What 
Y/ould be becoming in another place, would here be 
ridiculous ; and more than one would exclaim, with 
Aunt Susan, ^^Preachers dat come into dese woods to 
hniise de head 6b dat old sar^pint^ de debil^ musnH he 
frightened into a fit at ds sight oh a millc snake /" 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 283 



CHAPTEK yn. 

One delinquency has occurred in my ministerial 
life, so sad and toucliing, that the remembrance 
thereof is always painful and humiliating. For the 
sake of the example, I cannot forbear to record it. 
God has forgiven me, but I never have forgiven 
myself. Whenever busy memory, in retracing my 
past steps, comes to this event, I have always felt an 
involuntary shudder, and rush to forgetfulness for 
relief, or to the retrospection of events more pleas- 
ing. Reader, did you ever unwittingly do a thing 
that so hurt your conscience, as to leave ever after a 
w^ound in the heart, which, like the poor woman's 
issue, was incurable, but by the merciful touch of 
Omnipotence ? How much like the worm that dieth 
not, is this. I have called my sin, which I cannot 
forgive, a delinquency. In moral turpitude, and in 
justice to myself, I know not that I have a right to 
use a harsher epitJiet. 

I intended no harm, but touching injury ensued. 
I liad been pledged to guard against that injury. 
Tlie time was fixed, but under a slight temptation, I 
concluded to choose my own time. I failed to be 
" instant in season.'' I was junior preacher on Yeva 



284 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

Circuit, Southeast Indiana. It was a four weeks' cir- 
cuit, and I alternated with my venerable colleague, 
the Kev. James Jones, in preaching every two weeks, 
in the pretty little village of Kising Sun, on the 
banks of the Ohio River. It was a village of some 
six hundred inhabitants, and though so inconsidera- 
ble in size, was our metropolitan appointment. To 
me it was a terror. In my extreme youth and 
smooth-facedness, the idea of preaching where I 
might have lawyers and doctors, and the village 
Uite^ whom I knew, or, at least, I fancied that they 
knew so much more than myself, was an unconquer- 
able source of embarrassment, which often became 
absolutely suffocating. I would say to myself in 
w^eeping and mortification, I can never preach in 
Rising Sun. I knew I knew but little. A most 
profitable lesson which I had just learned, and which 
some of the youthful cloth learn but quite too late. 
How stultifying to genius is embarrassment. There 
are many who will read these lines with a smile, to 
think how they have struggled with it as with the 
nightmare. They will remember the pulpits and 
places in which they could never be themselves. In 
the interior, and among the log-cabins, where my 
whole itinerant career had been spent, and where all 
was confidence in the boy-preacher, by a simple- 
hearted peasantry, I was always waxing eloquent, 
that is magniloquent, at least, to the satisfactix>n of 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 285 

myself, and a few communicative admirers. In deep 
mortification, have I often left the village pulpit in 
the little oblong brick church that stood west of the 
village, on the slope of the hill, knowing that 1 had 
treated the people who had assembled to hear, with 
a mere bundle of words poorly chosen, and confused- 
ly compounded, and whose ideas were in proportion 
to them, as three grains of wheat to as many bushels 
of chaff. The fiiilures in Kising Sun saddened me, 
and made me sigh for the ruder interior ; and I 
was wont to keep out of the place, the genius 
of which was so unpropitious, as long as I could. 
Six miles west, at Wood's school-house, so called 
from the excellent brother residing in its immediate 
vicinity, and who kept a Methodist preacher's home 
indeed, I had a most favorite appointment. Here I 
always had great liberty, as was flatteringly attested 
by the frequent reference made to the sermon in the 
class-meeting that followed. The preacher preached 
and met class in those days. I have said the little 
chapel at Rising Sun stood upon the hill-side, and 
this shall lead me to mention some physical featiu-es 
of the banks of the lovely Ohio, quite peculiar. On 
one side its waters generally lave the spurs of hills, 
while on the opposite side the land is generally 
level, called " bottom-land." The two sides of the 
river rarely present the same scene. 

The spirit of beauty has its laws, and one is, it ever 



286 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

seeks variety. Cut as it were into promontories by 
wild and eccentric creeks, which drain the interior, 
the appearance of these hills is wild and picturesque, 
and they often rise into the respectability , of mount- 
ains. Granite cliffs sometimes crop out with, their 
sides shaggy with the gray moss of ages, filling the 
mind with the idea of Alpine sublimity, of mysteri- 
ous caverns, hermitage, and the like. What a mys- 
terious inspiration always hangs like a Tabor vision 
around the magnificence of mountain scenery.' 1 
cannot analyze it, but I feel it, and feel that it is a 
living entity, the soul of poetry. So have I often 
mused on the hill and mountain scenery of the Ohio. 
Mountains, however, are scarce, and while the hills 
push themselves out in every conceivable shaj^e, 
they are covered from the water's edge to their 
summits with a luxuriant growth of vegetation. Of 
trees, the variety is great. Here, the sugar-maple 
grows as it grows nowhere else, whose leaves in the 
autumn so beautify our Western forests. Here, the 
white ash peers up in its grace ; the butter-nut, black 
walnut, and buckeye, bespeak the great fertility of 
the soil, and the grape-vine spreads like a net-work 
over the tops of trees of different species, binding 
them into fraternal harmony. Thus, in the society 
of the vegetable kingdom, even this parasite liveth 
n-ot to itself; it receives from society, but returns to 
it an equivalent. The limbs which it burdens, it 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 287 

piii-ples with its clusters, which it bears for all. Na- 
ture abhors a loafer, as much as she does a vacuum. 

We became attached to the hills of Ohio, its cabin 
homes nestling on the sides, and its little corn-fields 
turned up at an angle of forty-five degrees, and yet 
yielding with an Egyptian luxuriance. In this early 
day, when railroads were not thought of, man had no 
motive to produce a surplus, as markets were too 
remote. His highest aim was to bring the year 
AROUND, which simply meant, that he raised enough 
to eat and drink. "I must raise corn enough to do 
me, and pork enough," said the farmer, "and then, 
when the w^intery blasts sweep over my cabin, and 
the soft and feathery snow steals silently down from 
the leaden heavens, I can sit before my big back- 
log, and watch my friendly fire, and feel that the 
wintery blast has no terror nor rebuke for me." But 
let no one suppose that this type of unprogressive life 
was doomed to scanty or unsavory meals. I doubt 
whether the highest culinary art of more modern 
phases of society, has added any to the luxuries of 
tlie living. Here was the yellow butter, fresh from 
the churn, and butter-milk far surpassing in richness 
the diluted milk of our city market. Here the 
warm Johnny-cake and generous, smoking dodger 
just from the skillet, bacon fattened on yellow corn, 
dried pumpkins, and a densely-populated poultry- 
yard, the sides of whose denizens shook with fat, as 



288 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

tliey always had free access to the corn-crib. In 
writing these lines, my gastronomical nerves become 
a little waterj^ and clamorous. I have said I loved 
these hills. Perhaps it is the mode of life I have 
described, which made me love them, as I am now 
sighing for a quiet obscurity in which to die. But 
perhaps there is a deeper reason why I love it. He 
whose counsels have been the cynosure of my life, 
and she who watched over my childhood, once so 
lived. Such was the home of my boyhood, and 
it has been the home of my heart ever since. The 
tiny corn-crib, and the rude, and, when compared 
with IlTorthwestern farming, the Liliputian tenements, 
have magic charms for me. In my fevered dreams 
and prospective helplessness, imagination dwells 
upon such a quiet retreat, and at times I fancy 
myself the happy inmate of such a lowly home, 
where, unremembered by few, besides Him who has 
already written my name in the book of life, I 
may die in quiet. I have been richly favored w^th 
all the domestic comforts of modern progress, and 
yet on the well-swept hearthstone and carpetless 
floor of such a home, the sun of my earthly bliss has 
shed its loveliest golden light, and sweetest violet 
hues. Home is a thing of the heart, and there is 
no place like it. Our sweetest conceptions of heaven 
are brought down to us under the idea of home. On 
earth, I never had but one home, and that was 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 289 

my cabin-home with its little corn-field in the wild- 
wood away. 

But I lengthily digress. In Rising Sun, three 
of our rest days were to be spent. After a Sabbath 
of my usual failures, I resolved to atone for the 
meagerness of my pulpit ministrations, by an increase 
of pastoral faithfulness. I commenced on Monday 
morning visiting in good earnest. My attention w\as 
called by a brother to an interesting case. An 
emigrant family, just from England, in straitened 
circumstances, (they had evidently known better,) 
on their way down the river, had been compelled to 
abandon their journey, in consequence of the increas- 
ing illness of their oldest and favorite son, in whose 
behalf tlie distant, transatlantic voyage had been 
undertaken. His mother was reputed pious, but 
the dying boy was reputed taciturn on subjects 
pertaining to eternity, much to the anguish of liis 
mother. To this family of strangers, and house 
of afiliction, I hastily hied. I delicately introduced 
myself in my true character, and met from the 
mother (the husband was absent) a most cordial 
reception. After various and natural inquiries, I 
introduced the great subject of my mission. A tear 
at once bubbled up in the eye of the mother, but I 
noticed in the son no emotion. I thought that dis- 
dain mingled with the fever of his cheek. He 
was consumptive, and in its last stages. I thought 



290 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

not fit to address him directly at that time, but 
learned from his mother the fearful condition of 
uncertainty in which his soul was placed. She 
sobbed aloud, and still his emaciated countenance 
seemed as emotionless as marble. He had only 
spoken to me in monosyllables, and hardly deigned 
to look directly at me. Believing that there is a 
road to all hearts, I changed the theme, spoke to him 
of the perils of coming to America, of the affliction 
of exhausted means, and closed by stating that 1 
could speak from experience. I, myself, was an 
English boy, and born near where your son here was 
born, and it would seem that the disparity between 
our ages was not very great. Pending the utterance 
of these words, the young man scanned me closely, 
his eyes of glass and silver flashing out from their 
bony sockets. " So you are an Englishman," he at 
last said, to which I replied with honest and affec- 
tionate pride, and his whole countenance and 
demeanor seemed changed toward me. I had 
touched his heart, where there lay a spell of home- 
sickness fatal to him in his emaciated condition. 
Seduced by the. flattering whispers of his insidious 
disease, he seemed unwilling to believe that he 
would not yet live to retrace the weary miles that 
lay between him and the rural home of his heart's 
devotion. I did not thwart him in his hopes, but 
gently hinted to him of a better home in heaven. 



IKCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 291 

His lip quivered, and relapsed in silence for some 
moments, when again he said, "If I could believe 
yonr religion, I should, doubtless, be happier. My 
pungent afflictions here make me misanthropic, the 
future is a cold vacuity, annihilation a terrible 
thought, nonconsciousness scarcely less to be dreaded 
than your orthodox hell." Tlie seal was broken, the 
mother sobbed, tears boiled up in the eyes of the wan 
consumptive, a fact was revealed. Tlie young man 
was an infidel; he had received a good education, and 
liad been poisoned by the infidel clubs and infidel 
books of the day; he had even brought Thomas Paine 
to America. I met his arguments, or rather those 
which I knew he employed, as best I could, and 
whatever were my other deficiencies, he found me 
at least so read up in this department, that he seemed 
to respect my opinions. After referring him to 
the gloomy conclusions of his own creed, I proposed 
prayer. I left him with tears in his eyes, he giving 
my liand, at parting, a feverish pressure, and uniting 
with his mother in a request that I should call 
again. 

After a delicate inquiry into the temporal wants 
of the family, I retired. I repeated my call in the 
afternoon, and twice every day during my stay in 
the village. Each successive caU was favored by 
encouraging results. Myself and spiritual patient 
became friends and favorites. I had battered awav 

19 "^ 



292 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

the strong pillars of his opposition to Christ. I 
had read to him beautiful passages from the Gos- 
pel, commenting thereon. Aided by the Divine 
Spirit, I indulged the hope that a mental and 
moral revolution was effected. He would not permit 
me to leave him, however, until I had pledged my- 
self that in the week from the Saturday following 
the time that we parted, at which time I was to be 
there, according to arrangements, I would give him 
my earliest attention, after my arrival; lut alas ! 1 
again made my circuit round, arrived on Saturday 
moiTiing at my favorite appointment, at Brother 
"Wood's, already mentioned, fully intending by two 
or three o'clock to be by the bedside of my dying 
consumptive. • 

The religious services of the day passed, as 
usual, delightfully away, when, repairing to the 
stable for my horse, with a sense of tremulous 
obligation upon my heart, I was met by a large 
circle of youth, about my age. They were going to 
organize a singing-school in the neighborhood on 
that evening. It was very desirable that the 
preacher should be present. All of the " Missouri 
Harmonist" of the neighborhood, far and near, were 
detailed for the occasion, and an honest-hearted, good 
time was expected. I resisted their importunities, 
firmly pleading a previous obligation, and naming 
the particulars. They seemed to appreciate it. At 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 293 

this moment brighter eyes than had beamed upon 
me before, in the argument, set uj) their plea. 
" Converse sparingly with woman." A fatal sugges- 
tion occurred that I could spend Sabbath afternoon 
with my penitent inquirer, and restore myself to his 
confidence by an apology that must be accepted. I 
returned to my home, spent the afternoon and even- 
ing in appropriate hilarity, without a whisper of a 
reproving conscience, but my meditations in the 
night season were replete with self-reproach and 
ominous forebodings. 

The next morning, long before the usual time, I 
was on my way to my village appointment, but 
either because my heart was heavy, or some other 
cause, I did not arrive there until the congregation 
was assembled. As I ascended the pulpit I saw it 
was somewhat. thin. A gloom, too, seemed to rest 
upon it. After the preliminary exercises, a brother 
approached the pulpit, informing me that a young 
man had died with the consumption the Saturday 
evening previous, and that the funeral was desired 
the Monday morning following. The announcement 
was to me as a voice from eternity ; and I trembled 
and stumbled more than usual through the subse- 
quent services. 

Eepairing at once to the house of bereavement 
and bed of death, I was still received by his 
mother, whose eyes were red with weeping, with 



294 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 

the greatest confidence and cordiality. I felt that 
did she but know the facts in the case, she ought 
to reproach me for my unfaithfulness ; but O, merci- 
ful God, conscience had needed no help. She told 
me that her son sank rapidly after I left ; that he 
had occasionally read the Bible, a thing he had 
never done before, on his dying bed. He was yet 
painfully uncommunicative in reference to his true 
state. He spoke often of me, and longed for the 
day to come when I would revisit him. On the Sat- 
urday on which I was expected he had watched 
every hour anxiously as it was measured off by an 
old English clock, which he insisted on having placed 
before him. At two his mother was to go to the 
door to see if she could not see me riding down the 
slope of the distant hill. At three, he knew I would 
be there soon. A few minutes before four he ex- 
claimed, "Mr. W., O my young friend — Jesus — 
Christ" — coughed, and sunk away in insensibility. 
At five he asked if I had come yet. The words 
were his last. At eight he was in eternity. 

Keader, twenty-two years have fled since this sad 
rehearsal, and yet is it as fresh in my memory to-day 
as if it occurred but yesterday. I never think of it 
without its suggesting some rebuking scripture. 
He that is "faithful over a few things I will make 
ruler over many things." And when on the next 
day I took the last look of him in the coffin, and his 



INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 295 

sallow, skeletonized, purple and cream-colored hand 
which lay upon his breast, caught my eye, one of the 
fingers, which had been slightly misplaced, seemed 
to point up to me in rebuke, I turned away with a 
Peter's heart, as at the crucifixion, remembering that 
Christ has said, to visit and administer to the sick is 
to do these things unto him. Weeping, I uttered, 
" Wicked and slothful servant." And now the hand 
that pens these lines resembles most strikingly the 
liand of our friend with whom the professed man of 
God kept such truant faith. An (ypportunity lost, is 
l^t forever. 



THE 



TEXAS CAMP-MEETIIG. 



By CHARLES SUMMERFIELD. 



THE TEXAS CAMP-MEETING. 



DuEiNG the last week in September, 1836, the first 
successful camp-meetiug was held in Eastern Texas. 
I employ the epithet " successful," because several 
previous failures had apparently rendered efforts of a 
like kind perfectly hopeless. Indeed, the meridian, 
at this period, was most uncongenial to the religious 
and moral enterprise. The country bordering on the 
Sabine had been occupied rather than settled by a 
class of adventurers almost as wild as the savages 
whom they had scarcely expelled, and the beast of 
prey, which still disputed their domains of primeval 
forests. Professional gamblers, refugees from every 
land, forgers of false coin, thieves, robbers and mur- 
derers, interspersed among the race of uneducated 
hunters and herdsmen, made up the strange social 
miscellany, without courts, or prisons, or churches, 
or schools, or even the shadow of civil authority, or 
subordination ; a sort of unprincipled pandemonium, 



300 THE TEXAS CAMP-MEETING. 

where fierce passion sat enthroned, waving its bloody 
Bcepter, the bowie knife ! Let no one accuse me of 
exaggeration for the sake of dramatic effect; I am 
speaking now of Shelby County, the home of the 
Lynchers, the terrible locale, where, ten years later, 
forty persons were poisoned to death at a marriage 
supper. 

It will be obvious, that in such a community, very 
few would be disposed to patronize camp-meetings ; 
and, accordingly, a dozen different trials at various 
times had never collected a hundred hearers on any 
single occasion. But even these were not allowed to 
worship in peace ; uniformly, the first day or nighty 
a band of armed desperadoes, headed by the notori 
ous Watt Foeman, chief judge and executioner of 
the Shelby Lynchers, broke in the altar and scattered 
the mourners, or ascended the pulpit and threatened 
the preachers to a gratuitous robe of tar and feathers. 
Hence all prudent evangelists soon learned to shun 
the left bank of the Sabine, as if it had been infested 
by a cohort of demons ; and two whole years elapsed 
without any new attempt to erect the cross in so per- 
ilous a field. 

At length, however, an advertisement appeared, 
promising another effort in behalf of the Gospel. 
The notice was imique, a perfect backwoods curiosi- 
ty, both as to its tenor and mode of publication. Let 
me give it verbatim et literatim : 



THE TEXAS CAMP-MEETING. 301 



" BARBECUE CAMP-MEETING. 

" There will be a camp-meeting, to commence the 
last Monday of this month, at the Double Spring 
Grove, near Peter Brinson's, in the County of Shelby. 

"The exercises will open with a splendid barbecue. 
The preparations are being made to suit all tastes: 
there will be a good barbecue, better liquors, and 
the best of Gospel. Paul Denton, 

" Sept. 1, 1836. Missionary, M. E. 0." 

This singular document was nailed to the door of 
every public house and grocery ; it was attached to 
the largest trees at the intersections of all cross roads 
and principal trails; and even the wandering hunters 
themselves found it in remote dells of the mountains, 
miles away from the smoke of a human habitation. 

At first 'many regarded the matter as a hoax, 
played off by some wicked wag, in ridicule of popu- 
lar credulity. But this hypothesis was negatived by 
the statements of Peter Brinson, proprietor of the 
" Double Spring Grove," who informed all inquirei-s, 
that " he had been employed and paid by a stranger, 
calling himself a Methodist missionary, to provide an 
ample barbecue, at the period and place advertised. 

" But the liquor, the better liquor ; are you to fur- 
nish the liquor too?" was the invariable question of 
each visitor. 



302 THE TEXAS CAMP-MEETING. 

" The missionary said he would attend to that him- 
self," said Brinson. 

" He must be a precious original," was the general 
rejoinder; a proposition which most of them after- 
ward had an opportunity to verify experimentally. 

I need hardly add that an intense excitement re- 
sulted. The rumor took wings and flew on the wind, 
turned to a storm, a storm of exaggeration, every 
echo increased in its sound, till nothing else could be 
heard but the "Barbecue Camp-meeting." It be- 
came the focus of thought, the staple of dreams. 
And thus the unknown preacher had insured one 
thing in advance ; a congregation embracing the 
entire population of the country, which was likely 
the sole purpose of his stratagem. 

I was traveling in that part of Texas at the time, 
and my imagination being inflamed by the common 
curiosity, I took some trouble and attended. But 
although my eyes witnessed the extraordinary scene, 
I may well despair of the undertaking to paint it ; 
the pen of Homer or the pencil of Hogarth were 
alone adequate to the sublimity and burlesque of 
such a complicated task. I may only sketch the 
angular outlines. 

A space had been cleared away immediately 
around the magnificent "Double Spring," which 
boiled up with sufficient force to turn a mill-wheel, 
in the very center of the evergreen grove. Here a 



THE TEXAS CAMP-MEETING. 303 

pulpit had been raised, and before it was the insepar- 
able altar for mourners. Beyond these, at the dis- 
tance of fifty paces, a succession of plank tables 
extended in the form of a great circle, or the perime- 
ter of a polygon, completely inclosing the area about 
the spring. An odoriferous stream of the most deli- 
cious savor diffused itself through the air. This was 
from the pits of the adjacent prairie, where the fifty 
slaves of Peter Brinson were engaged in cooking the 
promised barbecue. 

The grove itself was literally alive, teeming, 
swarming, running over with strange figures in 
human shape, men, women, and children. All 
Shelby County was there. The hunters had come, 
rifles in hand, and dogs barking at their heels ; the 
rogues, refugees, and gamblers, with pistols in their 
belts, and big knives peeping from their shirt 
bosoms, while here and there might be seen a sprink- 
ling of well-dressed planters with their wives and 
daughters. 

The tumult w^as deafening, a tornado of babbling 
tongues, talking, shouting, quarreling, betting, and 
cursing for amusement. Suddenly a cry arose, 
" Colonel Watt Foeman ! Hurrah for Colonel Watt 
Foeman !" and the crowd parted right and left, to let 
the lion Lyncher pass. 

I turned to the advancing load-star of all eyes, and 
shuddered involuntarily at the satanic countenance 



304 THE TEXAS CAMP-MEETING. 

that met my glance, and yet the features were not 
only youthful, but eminently handsome ; the hideous- 
ness lay in the look of savage iire ; ferocious, mur- 
derous. It was in the reddish-yellow eye-balls, with 
arrowy pupils that seemed to flash jets of lurid 
flame ; in the thin sneering lips with their everlasting 
icy smile. As to the rest, he was a tall, athletic, 
very powerful man. His train, a dozen armed des- 
peradoes, followed him. 

Foeman spoke in a voice, sharp, piercing as the 
point of a dagger : " Eh, Brinson, where is the new 
missionary ? We want to give him a plumed coat." 

*' He has not yet arrived," replied the planter. 

" "Well, I suppose we must wait for him ; but 
put the barbecue on the boards; I am as hungry 
as a starved wolf." 

" I cannot till the missionary comes ; the barbecue 
is his property." 

A fearful light blazed in Foeman's eyes, as he took 
three steps tow^ard Brinson, and fairly shouted, 
" Fetch me the meat instantly, or I'll fill your own 
stomach with a dinner of lead and steel!" 

This was the ultimatum of one whose authority 
was the only law, and the planter obeyed without 
a murmur. The smoking viands were arranged 
on the table by a score of slaves, and the throng 
prepared to commence the sumptuous meal, when 
a voice pealed from the pulpit, loud as the blast of a 



THE TEXAS CAMP-MEETING. 305 

trumpet in battle, "Stay, gentlemen and ladies, till 
the giver of the barbecue asks God's blessing !" 

Every ear started, every eye was directed to 
the speaker, and a whisperless silence ensued, for all 
alike were struck by his remarkable appearance. 
He was almost a giant in stature, though scarcely 
twenty years of age; his hair, dark as the raven's 
wing, flowed down his immense shoulders in masses 
of natural ringlets more beautiful than any ever 
wreathed around the jeweled brow of a queen 
by the labored achievements of human art; his eyes, 
black as midnight, beamed like stars over a face 
as pale as Parian marble, calm, passionless, spiritual, 
and wearing a singular, indefinable expression, such 
as might have been shed by the light of a dream 
from paradise, or the luminous shadow of an angel's 
wing. The heterogeneous crowd, hunters, gamblers, 
homicides, gazed in mute astonishment. 

The missionary prayed, but it sounded like no 
other prayer ever addressed to the throne of the 
Almight}^ It contained no encomiums on the splen- 
dor of the Divine attributes ; no petitions in the tone 
of commands ; no orisons for distant places, times, or 
objects ; no implied instruction as to the administra- 
tion of the government of the universe. It related 
exclusively to the present people and the present 
hour ; it was the cry of the naked soul, and that soul 
was a beggar for the bread and water of heavenly life. 



306 THE TEXAS CAMP-MEETING. 

He ceased, and not till tlien did I become con- 
scious of weeping. I looked around through my 
tears, and saw a hundred faces wet as with rain. 

" ISTow, my friends, partake of God's gifts at the 
table, and then come and sit down and listen to his 
Gospel." 

It would be impossible to describe the sweet tone 
of kindness in which these simple words were uttered, 
that made him on the instant five hundred friends. 
One heart, however, in the assembly, was maddened 
by the evidences of the preacher's wonderful powers. 
Colonel Watt Foeman exclaimed in a sneering voice : 
" Mr. Paul Denton, your reverence has lied. You 
promised us not only a good barbecue, but better 
liquor. Where is your liquor?" 

"There!" answered the missionary in tones of 
thunder, and pointing his motionless finger at the 
Double Spring, gushing up in two strong columns, 
with a sound like a shout of joy from the bosom 
of the earth. " There !" he repeated, with a look 
terrible as lightning, while his enemy actually trem- 
bled at his feet ; " there is the liquor, which God, the 
Eternal, brews for all his children ! 

"Not in the simmering still, over smoking fires, 
choked with poisonous gases, and surrounded with 
the stench of sickening odors and rank corruption, 
doth your Father in heaven prepare the precious 
essence of life, pure cold water. But in the green 



THE TEXAS C AMP- ME ETING. 307 

glade and grassy dell, where the red deer wanders 
and the child loves to play, there God himself brews 
it ; and down, low down in the deepest valleys, 
where the fountains murmur and the rills sing ; and 
high upon the mountain-tops, where the naked gran- 
ite glitters like gold in the sun, where the storm- 
cloud broods, and the thunder-storms crash ; and away, 
far out on the wide, wide sea, wliere the hurricane 
howls music, and big waves roar the cliorus, ' sweep- 
ing the march of God' — there lie brews it, that 
beverage of life, health-giving water." 

" And everywhere it is a thing of beauty : gleam- 
ing in the dew-drop ; slnghig in the summer rain ; 
-shining in the ice-gem, till the trees seem turned 
to living jewels; spreading a golden vail over the 
setting sun, or a white gauze ai'ound the midnight 
moon ; sporting in the cataract ; sleeping in the 
glacier; dancing in the hail shower; folding bright 
snow curtains softly above the wintery world, and 
weaving the many-colored iris, that seraph's zone 
of the sky, whose warp is the rain of earth, whose 
woof is the sunbeam of heaven, all checkered o'er 
with celestial flowers, by the mystic hand of rarefac- 
tion, still always it is beautiful, that blessed cold 
water. Ko poison bubbles on its brink; its foam 
brings not madness and murder ; no blood stains its 
liquid glass ; pale widows and starving orphans 
weep not burning teai-s in its clear depths; no 

20 



308 THE TEXAS CAMP-MEETING. 

drunkard's shrieking ghost from the grave curses it 
in words of despair ! Speak out, my friends, would 
you exchange it for the demon's drink, alcohol ?" 

A shout like the roar of the tempest answered, 
"No!" "ITo!" 

Critics need never tell me again that backwoods- 
men are deaf to the Divine voice of eloquence ; for 
I saw, at that moment, the missionary held the 
hearts of the multitude, as it were, in the hollow of 
his hand; and the popular feeling ran in a current 
so irresistible, that even the duelist. Watt Foeman, 
dared not venture another interruption during the 
meeting. 

I have just reviewed my report of that singular 
speech in the foregoing sketch ; but, alas ! I discov- 
er that I have utterly failed to convey the full im- 
pression, as my reason and imagination received it. 
The language, to be sure, is there; that I never could 
forget ; but it lacks the spirit, the tones of unuttera- 
ble pathos, the cadence of mournful music alternat- 
ing with the crashes of terrible power ; it lacks the 
gesticulation, now graceful as the play of a golden 
willow in the wind, and anon, violent as the motion 
of a mountain pine in the hurricane; it lacks that 
pale face, wrapped in its dreams of the spirit-land, 
and those unfathomable eyes flashing a light such as 
never beamed from sun or stars, and more than all, 
it lacks the magnetism of the mighty soul that 



THE TEXAS CAMP-MEETING. 309 

seemed to diffuse itself among the hearei*s as a view- 
less stream of electricity, penetrating the brain like 
some secret fire, melting all hearts, mastering evolu- 
tions. 

The camp-meeting continued, and a revival attend- 
ed it, such as never before, or since, was witnessed in 
the forests of Texas. But, unfortunately, on the last 
day of the exercises, news arrived on the ground, 
that a neighboring farmer had been murdered, and 
his wife and children carried away prisoners by the 
Indians. 

The young missionary sprang into the pulpit, and 
proposed the immediate organization of a company 
to pursue the savages. The suggestion being adopt- 
ed, the mover himself was elected to lead the party. 
After several days of hard riding, they overtook the 
barbarous enemy in the grand prairie. The mis- 
sionary charged foremost to his troops, and having 
performed prodigies of bravery, fell, not by the hand 
of an Indian, but by a shot from one of his own 
horsemen ! 

I need scarcely name the assassin, the reader will 
have anticipated me, the incarnate fiend. Colonel 
Watt Foeman, chief hangman of the Shelby Lynch- 
ers, and ten years later, a master cook at the pois- 
oned wedding. 

Such is the only fragment of the biography of a 
wounded genius, the sole twinkling ray of a dazzling 



310 THE TEXAS CAMP - MEETING. 

luminary, that rose and set in the wilderness, a torn 
leaf from Panl Denton's book of life. Peace to his 
ashes. He sleeps well, in that lone isle of ever- 
greens, surrounded by the evergreen sea of the 
prairie. E'ature's beloved son inherits her consist- 
ent tomb, that last possession, the inalienable fee 
simple of all time. 



REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT 

HIS SAD EXD AND CHRISTIAN CHARACTER. 



REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT, 



The name of MaflStt, for nearly a quarter of a cen- 
tury, has been excitingly familiar to the American 
public. And yet it is difficult to say why. There is 
a mysterious magic about his name. As a pulpit 
orator he is sui generis. Mentally and morally he is 
a problem for solution. If, in the latter sense, he is 
considered by some equivocal, in the former he has 
been considered by more inexplicable. 

What are the elements of power he so skillfully 
combines in his profession ? A question, this, we do 
not recollect ever to have seen satisfactorily answered. 
Compared with master minds, his, like his person, is 
below even the medium size, in all the commonly- 
enumerated essentials of intellectual might. He can- 
not be called learned. His reading for the most part 
is of the lighter class. He seems to have paid his 
respects to the profoimd, the text-books of theology 
and philosophy, but in patches. In science, except 
perhaps it be in mere common-school English ele- 



314 BEV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 

mentaries, he is still more superficial. ISTor is there 
aught about him physically which a stranger would 
be ready to attribute to his advantage. We are, per- 
haps, less inclined to award to him the highest gift of 
Apollo, for being a Zaccheus in stature. But with 
these, and other factitious disadvantages more serious, 
Maffitt never fails of an audience. The announcement 
of his name as the speaker has long been a stereotyped 
signal for a jam. Men of all professions, minds of all 
molds and of every degree of mental wealth, have 
confessed the spell-like power of his eloquence. And 
those wdio, on a first hearing, loudest confess their dis- 
appointment at his " theatrical manner," and the com- 
mon-placeness of his matter, are generally among the 
first to hear him again, and the last to stay away. 
As an author, his pen is powerless ; as an orator, he 
is omnipotent. 

Wherein, then, lieth his great strength ? To this 
question, at the risk of a failure, we shall attempt 'an 
answer. It consists not in his learning, nor in his 
logic, nor in originality of thought, nor in its combi- 
nation. JSTor does it consist, as some have supposed, 
in his imagination.' In all these respects he is excel- 
led by thousands in th^ same profession, and yet we 
liave but one Maffitt. 'Nov does it consist, certainly, 
in unchallenged sanctity of life, nor always in the in- 
spiration of the true spirit of his holy calling. ISTor 
can we claim for him association with some fortunate 



REV. JOHN NEWLAKD MAFFITT. 315 

event that lias exalted him to fame, and placed him, 
by the deceptive power of association in sucli cases, 
in the eye and ear of the world. 

As an orator, we humbly apprehend that Maffitt 
excels in manner, in fancy, the ardor of his natural 
affections, and strength of his self-reliance. In these 
elements of power, as we shall explain them, the sub- 
ject of these remarks will be found so far to excel, as 
to enable him, despite his deficiency in others, to take 
rank among the most effective of living speakers. We 
would employ the word " manner," as implying all 
the physical attributes of the orator, such as appropri- 
ate gestures, natural intonations, distinct enunciation, 
proper emphasis, etc. This art has ever been consid- 
ered of the first moment to the orator. The world 
abounds with volumes in its praise. And yet, striking 
excellence in this art is but rarely attained. This has 
been attributed more to a neglect of its study, than to 
the difficulties in the way of its acquirement. An 
error, we verily, believe. To attain to a striking 
model of manner requires a peculiar tinge of genius, 
an idiosyncrasy of constitution, which, like poetry, is 
more a gift than the fruit of the most elaborate culti- 
vation. There are but few speakers whose manner, in 
some of its parts, may not be much improved by 
study ; but that perfect whole, that symmetrical mod- 
el, which well-nigh defies criticism by being too subtle 
for description, it belongs to the favored few alone to 



316 REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 

attain. Like the smile of dreaming infancy, like the 
mantling blushes of artless innocence, or like the look 
of a child's want in the bitterness of its woe, or the 
last look of a mother and widow into the grave of her 
last earthly hope, this climax of excellence in manner 
must be witnessed to be understood and felt in all its 
enchanting potency. It is embodied beauty, and fit- 
ness, and passion, and power, speaking to the heart 
through the eye, the ear, the taste, addressing itself to 
our instinctive love of the purely natural, chastened 
by art, with a voice of sweet authority which it re- 
quires violence to our nature to resist. But the feel- 
ings which such a manner inspires are its only ade- 
quate description. 

" There's a power in delivery, a magical art, 
That thrills like a kiss from the lip to the heart," 

If Maffitt's manner be not always faultless, manner- 
ism forms no part of it. There is no muscular move- 
ment, no habit-fixed peculiarity, which wearies and 
disgusts by its habitual occurrence. All the muscular 
accompaniments, and manifestations of thought, 
feeling, and passion, are as endlessly diversified as are 
thought, feeling, and passion. His manner is kaleido- 
scopic. He conforms his pronunciation to the 
most approved authority with the tenacity of the 
eccentric Kandolph. His enunciation is clear and 
distinct, touching, rounding, sharpening, trilling, or 



REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 817 

asp'-i-atiiig, each primitive element that compounds in 
a word, often giving such distinctness to the alpha- 
betical powers that he seems to have spelled the 
word in its pronunciation. And difficult as it is, in 
this he succeeds, as, indeed, he generally does in all 
the branches of his elocution, without affectation, or 
seeming effort. Ilis voice, though not strong, is 
under masterly control, and passes up through the 
musical scale with as much ease as flows the stream 
of song from the throat of the mocking-bird. His 
tones, like his gestures, are ever varying with the 
sense and the emotion. Possessing great sweetness 
and compass of voice, as if with whispers aerial, and 
music ventriloquial, he breathes his chastened senten- 
ces into the ear of his remotest auditor. His voice in 
its swell fills a large space, and to hear him is always 
to understand him. His manner effects more than 
his matter. The latter may consist of familiar surface 
truths, and generally does, but invested with the 
charm of his manner common-placeisms assume a 
new interest and freshen into beauty. In suiting the 
look to the passion and the action to the word, 
Maffitt has rarely had his equal, whether on the stage, 
at the bar, or in the pulpit. When putting forth his 
full powers, he is an incarnation of the mystic divinity 
of eloquence. His oratory is wanting, perhaps, in the 
strong, the classical, the masculine element. It is 
delicate, winning, beautiful, popular, electrical, 



318 REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 

without being effeminate. In these respects it 
corresponds with the happy accidents of physical 
delicacy and Adonis-like features in the person of 
the orator. The curls of a Cupid, a little foot, 
exquisite hand, and a form molded to the sculptor's 
fancy, are no mean considerations in the measure- 
ment of Maffitt's power. All concur and combine in 
that symmetrical wiiole — gesture, voice, style, and 
attributes of person, to make him the exponent 
of all that is fascinating in the manner of the orator. 

"His words they liave so rich a flow, 

And speak the truth so sweet. to all, ^ 

They drop like Heaven's serenest snow, 
And all is briglitness where they fall." 

His fancy is another hiding-place of his power. 
We do not mean his imagination. Fancy and 
imagination are commonly confounded in judging 
the speaker. This is an error. Imagination is the 
creative energy, the life-breath of an original mind. 
Such a mind Maffitt does not possess. Fancy is 
the descriptive faculty, the photogenic power of 
mind, and this he does possess in a high degree. 
Imagination is the powder blast in the quarry of 
thought ; fancy the sculptor at the touch of whose 
chisel the marble blocks breathe in beauty. Imagi- 
nation is the ground swell of mind that upheaves the 
treasures from hidden depths; fancy the lapidary 
that sets the brilliants in a diadem of beauty. Imagi- 



REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 319 

nation indicates strength of mind ; fancy sensibility. 
Imagination and fancy are related in mind like heat 
and color in the solar ray. The former warms the 
lily into life, the latter adorns it with the hues of the 
rainbow. These two powers are seldom balanced in 
a single mind. If one be remarkabty active, the other 
will be weak. In Mafiitt's mind fancy predominates. 
I^ot that his descriptive powers are really so very 
extraordinary. But his propensity for description is. 
"With him, the love of the descriptive in oratory 
amounts to a passion ; a passion slightly morbid per- 
haps, and insatiately craving indulgence. With him 
the life-sketch, the narrative, the picturesque, abound 
in every discourse. And in the fire, the fervor, the 
pathos of extempore utterance, his imagery is most 
gorgeous, often extravagant ; a cataract of flowers. 
His sermons are panoramic ; a succession of pictures. 
And though they may at times fail of being light to 
the mind and fire to the heart, they rarely, if ever, 
fail of being beauty to the eye, and music to the ear; 
and as we shall more fully see, with "so many strings 
to his bow," Maffitt never make^ "a total failure," 
though his efforts diff*er as widely in excellence 
as those of any other man. Even on occasions the 
most ordinary, his hearers are made to feel the subtle 
charm of his eloquence sufficiently to secure their 
re-attendance. 

The third element in this imperfect analysis of 



32 REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 

Maffitt's oratorical powers we have denominated 
the ardor of his natural affections. The human 
heart is a harp of many strings. The loves of the 
sex and of relationship constitute the most sensitive 
class. These, Maffitt sweeps with the hand of a mas- 
ter. He is constantly dwelling upon the domesticity 
of our nature. His discourses are constantly abound- 
ing with portraits and incidents tending to arouse 
these tenderest sensibilities into a tempest of passion. 
He knows well that there is in this direction an easy 
road to all hearts. The tears of a philosopher lie as 
shallow as those of a peasant at the grave of buried 
love. The blood-stained freebooter hears with wet 
eyes, stories of "wife, children, and home." Maffitt'& 
auditors must weep from sympathy, if not for theii 
sins. And better would it be for genuine religion if 
such feelings in his revivals were less often substitu- 
ted for it. That his sensibilities and sympathies in 
this direction are less wholesome than morbid, verg- 
ing far to the romantic and sentimental, we cannot 
doubt. In this, we apprehend, a deadly mischief 
lurks, one which throws over his moral character all 
that ambiguity of which it is painful to think, and of 
which the public gossip. Charity, however, should 
compel the inference that it does not necessarily 
involve crime. But after generations will alone 
draw that inference. In their neutralizing effects, 
long-repeated imprudences in a minister are worse 



REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 321 

tlian an overt act of guilt. But these tender passions 
of our nature are wont to feel no satiety even when 
feasted to gluttony. The novel charms us, though 
its love plots be too overwu-ought to be truthful to 
nature. And this very reason is an additional 
reason why the public have so long confessed to an 
omnipotent enchantment in Rev. John N". Maffitt's 
eloquence. He will be heard even by those who 
hate him. The fiction is read and wept over because 
it fires the passions, though its falseness is acknowl- 
edged. A doubting confidence in the piety of such 
a preacher cannot deprive him of an audience. 
Hence Maffitt, though under the ban of excommuni- 
cation in the IN'orth, and denounced by the public 
press for breaking the heart of a young and beautiful 
wife in the city of Brooklyn, yet is seen a short 
time after, with the world at his heels, figuring in a 
"great revival" at Little Rock, Arkansas. And 
at this time, upon newspaper authority, we under- 
stand that his admirers are about to build him a 
church in New Orleans. 

But we are making allusions here that form no part 
of the purpose of the present article. We have to do 
only with Maflitt as an orator. We are attempting to 
throw some light upon the cardinal causes of his 
success — the world-wide celebrity of this celebrated 
Methodist preacher, whom no power seems able to si- 
lence, because the public will hear him. With regard 



322 REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 

to his self-reliance^ he knows his forte too well ever to 
lose his self-possession, or to suifer from that choke- 
damp of genius, em^barrassment. He is not wanting in 
the fullest confidence in his own powers, and has the 
comfortable vanity to believe tliat the public are not. 
The world was made for him, and he never presumes 
for a moment that he was made to be any less than 
one of its most notable lions. He has faith in 
himself that removes mountains. His manner helps 
to get out his matter, and, with the rich and exhaust- 
less Imes of his fine fancy, often more than atones for 
the lack of it. 

"What must be the responsibility of such a man ! 
Had his piety and devotedness always been equal to 
his powers, who could calculate the measure of his 
usefulness % His eulogy while living would have 
been, " The delightful wonder and admiration of 
weeping thousands," and when dead his memory 
would have taken rank with the sainted Summerfield 
and immortal Whitefield, as not the least fragrant of 
the trio. His example may furnish many a useful 
hint to the occupant of the sacred desk. 

Alas ! since the above was written, our friend Maf- 
fitt is no more. He was our friend, and intimate, as 
far as he was wont to have clerical intimates. But 
from characteristics already developed, these intima- 
cies with him were not as with other men. The 
price of them always was that Ids superiority be 



REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 323 

acknowledged. It was this that turned him away 
to seek less tlie company of the clergy than the 
foolish clown who would flatter him. But we would 
here restrain further criticism, and throw a tear- 
dampened evergreen upon his grave. Farewell, 
then, paradox of goodness, greatness, and weakness ! 
He died at Mobile, Alabama, and a leading journal 
of that city made the following note of the event: 

"Hunted down with faded reputation, stricken and 
ill, but with unblenching spirit and unabated fire, 
the orator of a quarter of a century lay down to die ! 
The malaria of death was in his nostrils, and the last 
inevitable hour had come. But with his dying 
breatli he declared himself a calumniated man. He 
said that during his ministerial life he had been 
guilty of many frivolous, but no criminal acts; for- 
gave his enemies, expressed an unalterable trust in 
the merits of Jesus Christ his Saviour, and did not 
doubt but that all would be well. Thus passed away 
John Kewland Maffitt ; and if the reader will visit 
Toulminville, from whence can be seen the spires of 
Mobile, in an unobtrusive grave in that tranquil vil- 
lage, his eyes will rest uj)on the spot where sleeps the 
most splendid pulpit orator likely to be seen in a half 
century to come ! The star which arose in the East, 
over the bright waters of the deep and silent Shan- 
non, culminated in the American heavens, and went 

down in the West !" 

21 



324 REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 

A ^ost mortem examination is said to have been 
instituted, when the fact was elicited, that he died 
literally of a broken heart. "We had hoped ere this* 
to have seen a memoir of this remarkable man. Time 
has passed away, and we have been sadly disappoint- 
ed. As we have already intimated, we trust that an 
impartial memoir would make the world think better 
of Maffitt than it has. "We know not that material 
for the work could now be obtained, and in the mean 
time oblivion is fast gathering over his extensive and 
mixed reputation. The following from a responsible 
correspondent of the St. Louis Christian Advocate 
we insert here no less from its intrinsic interest of 
detail than as an act of justice to the deceased : 

"I was forcibly reminded of an incident that once 
occurred in my own intercourse with him, when he 
visited St. Louis in the spring and simimer of 1840. 
I first heard him from the pulpit in the city of Balti- 
more, when, in 1829, '30, his eloquence had attracted 
the attention of such vast crowds as constantly pressed 
their way into the churches where he was expected 
to preach ; and, like many others, with no better 
means of forming an opinion, became prejudiced in 
mind, and entertained opinions unfavorable to his 
genuine piety. Years passed away before I again 
met him, and then it was upon his visit to St. Louis. 
Circumstances seemed to direct that, during that visit, 
his residence should be with my family. "We were 



REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 325 

glad to entertain the man whose career of usefulness 
had marked his way in every city and town he had 
visited, and who came now to St. Louis, to use his 
own emphatic language, 'to battle for the Lord.' 
And yet I found in my own mind a lurking of for- 
mer prejudices, which, notwithstanding the charm 
his presence threw around the social circle, still had 
an influence upon my feelings, until at last an inci- 
dent occurred which satisfied me of the genuine piety 
of Maffitt, and unfolded to my view, to some extent 
at least, the source from whence came his power in 
the sacred desk. 

" He was asked by several friends to preach a ser- 
mon upon the ''Divinity of Jesus ChrisV In ac- 
cordance with that request, he announced from the 
pulpit of the old Fourth-street Church, that, on the 
next Sabbath morning, (which, if my memory is not 
at fault, was the first Sabbath in May, 1840,) he 
would deliver a discourse upon that subject. As 
was usual with him, he had appointments for Tues- 
day and Thursday evenings of the week, at which 
he did not, as was usual with him, exhibit that bril- 
liancy of thought and power of oratory for which he 
was so preeminent. On Friday and Saturday, he 
kept his room closely. Occasionally I called on him, 
and found him pacing the floor or surrounded with 
papers strewn in every direction. I thought I could 
observe something unusual in his appearance, so 



326 REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 

mucli SO as to produce some uneasiness in my own 
mind. I therefore approaclied him on Saturday 
evening, and said, ' Brother Maffitt, something 
seems to be the matter with you ; can I render you 
any assistance?' His reply was, ^Brother, my 
mental anguish is almost beyond endurance ; my 
heart is hard as a rock ; God seems to have left me 
in total darkness ; not the first ray of light has yet 
flashed upon me for the work of to-morrow. And 
such is the agony of my mind that my body has 
broken out in red spots.' Then opening his bosom, 
I was astonished to see the appearance which pre- 
sented itself: the entire chest was covered with 
splotches as if scorched by the fire. Said he: 'If I 
could find relief to my mind, this would pass away. 
But,' he continued, ' leave me, brother ; I must 
seek relief at the cross.' I left him and retired to 
my room, and then to rest. Late at night, a low 
murmur from his room awoke me. Fearing he was 
sick, I arose, and passing through the hall to his 
door, gently opened it, and, upon looking in, I found 
his bed yet untouched. Upon the opposite side of 
the room I beheld him upon his knees, with the 
Bible open before him resting upon a chair, his face 
upturned toward heaven; and in deepest agony, I 
heard him plead with God to assist him this once, if 
never again, to present to the people their hope of 
salvation. While I thus stood gazing, as I thought, 



REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 327 

upon the most sublime spectacle I ever beheld, the 
clock in the hall struck three ; it was three o'clock 
Sunday morning, and yet his bed was not tumbled, 
nor was his agony at the foot of the cross subdued. 
I tm-ned away subdued in feeling, with every vestige 
of former prejudice gone, and with a determination 
in future to be charitable to all mankind. 

"When the morning came, and the bright sun ush- 
ered in the Sabbath day, I again entered his room, 
and found him sleeping sweetly and soundly as if 
nothing was to engage his attention for the day. 
The hour for preaching had nearly arrived, and I 
awoke him. Then he was himself again ; bright and 
elastic as a bird. He had wrestled at the cross in 
the silence of night until God had heard his cry, and 
granted him relief. And that sermon preached by 
Kev. John E'ewland Maffitt, on that first Sabbath in 
May, 1840, in St. Louis, upon the 'Divinity of 
Christ,' is still fresh iu the memory of such men as 
Wesley Browning and others, still remaining to bear 
record of its power." 



DEMIS AND THE PRIEST. 

A DIALOGUE. 



DENNIS AND THE PRIEST. 



A DIALOGUE. 



" Good morning, Dennis." 
'' Good morning, your reverence." 
" What is this they say of yon, Dennis? I am told 
you have been to hear the preaching of the soupers." 
" Yon have been told the truth, your reverence." 
" And how could you dare to listen to heretics ?" 
" Please your reverence, God is not a heretic ; and 
it is the word of God, the Bible, that they read." 
" Ay, the Bible explained by a minister." 
"No, your reverence; the Bible explained by 
itself; for when it is allowed to speak, it explains 
itself without assistance from any other quarter; 
and in the very act of reading it, we allow it to 
speak." 

"But, after all, the minister preaches; and he in- 
sists on your believing what he preaches." 



332 DENNIS AND THE PRIEST. 

" IS"©, your reverence ; the preacher tells us not to 
believe on his word, but when we go home, to ex- 
amine whether it contradicts or confirms what he has 
delivered from the pulpit." 

* " But, don't you see that this is a mere sham ; and 
that you, the common people, cannot examine the 
Holy Scriptures, so as to judge whether they confirm 
or contradict what the preacher says ?" 

" At that rate, your reverence, St. Luke made fools 
of the common people ; for the preacher pointed out 
to us a passage in the Bible which mentions that the 
Bereans compared the preaching of the Apostle Paul 
with the Holy Scriptures; and more than that, St. 
Luke commends them for doing so." Acts xvii, 11. 

" Admirable, Master Dennis ! you are quite a doc- 
tor in divinity! You know as much as a whole 
synod of bishops ! Your decisions will be equal to 
those of a general council !" 

" IsTo, your reverence ; I make no pretensions to 
judge for other persons ; but I take the liberty of 
judging for myself God inspired the Bible : I read 
his inspired word, and that is all." 

" But you are not able to understand it." 

"The proof that I can is, that I really do under- 
stand it. I understand very well an almanac made 
by an ordinary man. Why should I not understand 
the Bible, which has God for its author? Cannot 
God express what he means as well as a mere mor- 



DEXXIS AXD THE PRIEST. 338 

tal ? Besides, the Bible, speaking of itself, says that 
it is ' a light.' " Ps. cxix, 105. 

" Dennis, yon are obstinate and conceited." 

^' Your reverence, if he is an obstinate man who 
never changes his opinion, it is you who are obsti- 
nate ; but as for me, I found myself in a bad road, 
and changed for a better, that is all. I have never 
pretended to be infallible." 

"You are very conceited to think that you know 
so much more than others." 

" Others are not very humble in thinking that 
they know more than God ; but it is to God, and not 
to my fellow-men, that I hold myself responsible." 

"I must tell you .that if you go on reasoning in this 
way, I shall not admit you to confession." 

" I confess myself." 

" ISTot to me, at all events !" 

"No; but to God." 

"To God!" 

"Yes; to God, who declares in the Bible that 'if 
we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive 
us our sins.' " 1 John i, 9. 

" The Church will not marry you." 

" I will get married elsewhere." 

"The Church will not bury you." 

" I shall not trouble myself about my dead body, 
if I save my soul." 

"You will be excommunicated!" 



334 DENNIS AND THE PKIEST. 

" No matter, if I am received by God." 

" 1^0 prayers shall be offered for you !" 

"I shall pray for myself." 

"JSTo masses will be said for you to release you 
from purgatory !" 

" They would be of no use ; for I reckon on going 
to paradise." 

"To paradise, do you?" 

" Yes ; to paradise." 

" How do you know that ?" 

"Why thus: I read in the Bible that the thief, 
when hanging on the cross at the right hand of Jesus, 
after having confessed his sins to Jesus Christ, who 
is God, said to him, 'Lord, remember me!' ^and Jesus 
said unto him, Yerily I say unto thee, to-day shalt 
thou be with me in paradise.' Luke xxiii, 41-43. 
If, then, a penitent malefactor could be pardoned by 
believing on Jesus Christ, I cannot see why, if I 
repent, and trust in the same Saviour, I may not 
equally obtain salvation ; and the truth that my hope 
is well founded lies in what I have read in the same 
blessed book, that 'God so loved the world that he 
gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth 
in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.' 
John iii, 16. But as I make a part of the world 
here spoken of, it follows, that if I believe, I shall be 
saved." 

"But while you are waiting to go to paradise. 



DENNIS AND THE PRIEST. 335 

you must live in this world, and I tell you plainly, 
that you will lose your livelihood by joining these 
heretics. No one will have anything to do with 
you." 

"I trust in Him who gives us, 'day by day, our 
dayly bread ;' and if God be for me, what can all 
those do who are against me ?" 

" You will be a laughing-stock to everybody." 

" And what will that signify ? Was not Jesus 
Christ mocked and set at naught ?" 

" Everybody will shut their doors against you." 

" Jesus Christ had not where to lay his head." 

'' You will be called an apostate !" 

" Was not St. Paul the greatest of apostates at his 
conversion ?" 

" Everybody will take pleasure in refusing to do 
you a kindness !" 

" The world persecuted the Master, and, therefore, 
may well persecute his disciples ; and the more I am 
persecuted for my faith, the more I shall feel that I 
am truly a disciple of Christ." 

" Well ! we shall see how long you will hold out ! 
First of all, no one will give you any work." 

" And what next ?" 

" [N^o one will admit you under his roof." 

"And what next?" 

" No one will have anything to do with you, either 
in buying or selling." 



336 DENNIS AND THE PRIEST. 

"And what next?" 

" JS'o one will receive you into his society." 

"So then the whole world will conspire against 
me ?" 

" Certainly !" 

"And who will be at the head of the conspira- 
tors?" 

" "Who ! who ! what does that signify ?" 

" At all events, whosoever he may be, you may tell 
him that he is not a Christian, for Christ commands 
us to forgive offenses, while this man indulges 
revenge. Jesus commands men to love one another, 
and this man appears quite disposed to hate me. 
Should he happen to be a priest, you may tell him 
that his prototypes were the members of the Sanhe- 
drim, who, through hatred, condemned Jesus to death. 
Should he be an Ultramontane, you may tell him 
that I am astonished at nothing done by him, and by 
those who invented the Inquisition. Lastly, should 
it be yourself, be assured that yom- vengeful spirit 
is to me the best proof that you are not in the truth. 
Christ said, ^Forgive,' and you take vengeance. 
Christ said, ' Teach all nations, ' and you refuse 
even to let them read the Bible. ' Freely ye have 
received, freely give,' (Matt, x, 8,) and you sell, 
not, indeed, the Gospel, for that you concefel, but 
you sell your masses, your prayers, your dispensa- 
tions, your rosaries, your tapers, your indulgences, 



DENNIS AND THE PRIEST. 387 

your baptismS) your interments; but as for me, 
I can make shift to do without any of your wares, 
while I apply to that God who gives heaven gra- 
tuitously." 

<' Gratuitously !" 

" Yes, gratuitously ! and this it is that vexes you ! 
For when a blessing is bestowed gratuitously, the 
concurrence of those who sell is not wanted. Yes, 
gratuitously! this one word is ruinous to all your 
schemes. God gives and you sell. God pardons and 
you punish. God loves and you hate. How can you 
expect that we should not go to God, or wonder that 
we do not come to you ? But act toward me just as 
you please; I have learned not to fear those who can 
kill the body ; but only to fear those who can destroy 
the soul ; in other words, I stand in no awe of you." 

" You axe an insolent fellow." 

" I am not ; but I have the courage to speak 
the truth." 

" You are impious !" 

" I have been so, while bending the knee before 
images of wood or stone ; but I have ceased to be so, 
since I have believed in the living God, and trusted 
only in my Saviour." 

" You are a miserable wretch." 

"Yes, a miserable sinner; but a penitent and 
humble sinner, I trust, whom God has pardoned." 

" You will always be a — " 



338 DENNIS AND THE PRIEST. 

" What I shall be I do not know, but I know what 
I wish to be. I wish for the future to live in purity, 
t)ecause it was precisely my sins that crucified the 
Saviour. I wish to be sincere, just, and charitable, 
because Jesus has been so good as to give me eveiy- 
thing. Allow me to tell you what kind of person 1 
am. When persons love me I love them in return ; 
when they do me a favor I wish to return it twofold ; 
the more generous others are toward me, the more 
grateful I feel. Well ! and has not God been gener- 
ous to me more than I have words to express ? He 
has granted me pardon, and heaven, and eternity. 
Thus my heart bounds with joy, and I am ready to 
do all God requires of me ; but what he requires of 
me is most delightful. It is to love him and love my 
brethren, to love even you, reverend sir." 

" I do not want your love." 

" I shall not the less pray for you." 

" I do not want your prayers." 

" See the difference between us, your reverence. 
I love you, and you hate me. I offer you my 
prayers, and you refuse me yours. But Jesus Christ 
has said, ' By their fruits ye shall know them ; do 
men gather grapes of thorns or figs of thistles?' 
Matt, vii, 16. Judge now, reverend sir, which of us, 
you or I, is the disciple of Jesus Christ." 



THE 



HOPE OF CITIES ILLUSTRATED, 



A PLEA FOR SABBATH SCHOOLS. 



32 



THE 

HOPE OF CITIES ILLUSTRATED. 



Great cities are always greatly wicked. There is 
not a great city on earth at this day, nor did one 
ever exist, from Sodom to St. Louis, from ISTineveh to 
ITew-York, from Babylon to Baltimore, from Persep- 
olis to Paris, that does not exemplify the truth of 
this remark. When we say greatly wicked, we 
would not be understood as overlooking the fact, 
that the world everywhere lieth in wickedness. But 
a rural population, remote from cities, is much less 
given to crime, corruption, and degradation, than the 
same number of persons in a city relation. ISTor 
would we intimate that many pious Lots are not to 
be found in large cities. But Lot and l^is family 
in Sodom, scarcely unappropriately represent how 
far these persons are in the minority. There is 
scarcely a city on this continent, of any notable 
magnitude, in which the house of her " w^hose steps 
take hold on hell," the gambling saloon, the pestifer- 
ous dram-shop, and the theater, do not receive from 



342 THE HOPE OF CITIES ILLUSTEATED. 

five to fifty visitors every Sabbath-day, for one who 
attends an evangelical church. Hence it is, that 
Christian churches in cities, of all denominations, by 
recent investigations, are found to be doing little 
more than holding their own ; exerting a feebly con- 
servative, rather than an aggressive influence. Who 
can contemplate these facts without profound feel- 
ing? especially, as great cities are the natural 
product of social laws. We cannot do without them. 
Their existence cannot be hindered, and the more 
rapid their growth, generally, the greater the profli- 
gacy of their infancy ; and how rapid the growth 
of cities in this nation needs no mention. But 
especially does one tremble at the corruption of large 
cities, in view of their corrupting influence upon the 
country, recently enhanced a hundredfold by reason 
of railroads and other increased facilities for travel. 
The theater bill is sent many miles into the coun- 
try in the morning, and, responsive to its call, the 
recipients — the newly seduced votaries of wanton- 
ness and wine — ^are found in the evening where mer- 
cenary destruction can place its hand in their pockets 
and look its infernal charms into their hearts. 

The city is full of the hopelessly abandoned. Per- 
haps it is wrong to say any should be considered 
hopelessly abandoned. Well, we will not discuss 
the doctrine in the abstract. We would not have 
Christian zeal cease effort in any direction as hope- 



THE HOPE OF CITIES ILLUSTRATED. 343 

less. But it is enough to say, that facts occur in cities 
dayly to justify our assertion, and for ourself we 
must say, that if a line anywhere is to be found this 
side of the prison-walls of lost souls, beyond which 
humanity seems to have reached a point in the de- 
scending scale of degradation, that hope cannot get 
down to, it is to be found in great cities. Here, sen- 
suality riots, and rots in its excesses. Here, despera- 
tion seeks death, and it is not long in finding it. 
Here bevies of seductionists, like the web of the 
spider in every nook and corner of a deserted dwell- 
ing, spread out their seen and unseen meshes. Here, 
the burglar and the robber, under a hundred types 
of character, watch for their unsuspecting victim and 
the spoils. Here, the place of drunken revels boils 
like a pot of fire and brimstone. Here, mendicancy 
and pauperism come to perfection, and drag along 
their lank forms, or stretch out their skeleton hands 
in want, dripping from the rakings of the gutter or 
black with the late incendiary brands, all along the 
alleys and purlieus of filth and wretchedness. Before 
the wine-glass, authority lays down its mace, and the 
police are often found the patrons and protectors, not 
of those who should be protected, but of the very 
nuisances they are commissioned to abate. In 
municipal liquor licenses, generic sinning is provided 
for by law. Regulated sin is systematized damna- 
tion. It doubles and twists, multiplies and directs its 



344 THE HOPE OF CITIES ILLUSTRATED. 

power like powder in the cannon's throat or steam in 
the engine. 

Against this Gibraltar of Satanic power, a few pul- 
pits weekly raise their scathing remonstrance. But 
still the great fastnesses of evil remain unshaken. 
Those most needy of the expostulations of the pulpit, 
are most certain to be found beyond its reach. The 
truth is, there always will be found in cities, so far as 
mere logic can come to conclusions, large masses of 
adults who never can be gotten within the embrace 
of the Church. We might offer many reasons for 
this sad conclusion, but have only space now to name 
it, and will mention but one, namely : The pulpit has 
ceased to elicit attendance on the mere ground of 
novelty or curiosity. It was not always so. When 
the lost institution of preaching was restored to the 
Church by the reformers, when Protestantism first 
commenced to talk, and talk with a tongue of fire, 
the pulpit had an influence over the mass, ridiculed 
and persecuted as it was, that it has not now. These 
were times, also, when, if the mass heard anything 
new, they must look to oral sources for it. The pop- 
ular press was not then, as now, omnipresent. That 
the Sunday-morning newspaper is a mighty anti- 
church-attendance institution, it would be quite easy 
to show. As to the gratuitous distribution of the relig- 
ious book or tract among the class we are now speak- 
ing of, though they have not lost their power, yet 



THE HOPE OP CITIES ILLUSTRATED. 345 

their power is waning, and their very presence begins 
to excite suspicion. "What, then, we ask, can be done 
for this heaving mass of the population of great cities 
which the voice of the holy altar cannot reach; this 
territory of paganism lying under the very shadow of 
our church steeples ? Well, what if we should sup- 
pose that we could do very little for many of them, 
the inference, painful as it is, is no new one. The 
Church cannot save everybody, and when it is said 
to the faithful, "Be of good cheer, for it is your 
Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom," we 
will not shroud our pulpit in sackcloth and seek to 
go to heaven in crape because everybody will not go 
with us. "Fret not thyself because of evil doers." 

But we have one ground of hope left us in refer- 
ence to reaching the church-neglecting families of 
the city. Ay, we have just planted our foot on this 
ground. The family ! yes, the family ! Wherever 
the family exists, the Church can reach the lost. 
Not that she will always be successful with the 
parents, but she need seldom be unsuccessful with 
the children. Not that she need entertain sanguine 
hopes of this generation, but she may of the next. It 
would seem that the Sabbath school was invented 
and inaugurated just at the proper time to aid the 
Church in this great emergence. If the preacher 
cannot get at the parents, the Sabbath-school teacher 
can at the children. With proper diplomacy, he 



346 THE HOPE OF CITIES ILLUSTRATED. 

will seldom be denied access, and this, perhaps, is 
the only way of access to the parents' heart. In our 
experience, we have found it the Appian Way to 
that citadel. We regard the faithful Sabbath-school 
teacher, the company of laymen who organize and 
successfully prosecute a Sabbath-school enterprise in 
our cities, as being the first of philanthropists, as ex- 
emplifying the ripest of moral and religious senti- 
ments, and as doing a work in which the pastor may 
aid, but a work that can only be done by them. We 
consider the Sabbath school as the only hope for city 
heathenism. The Church has no other means by 
which she can enlighten its darkness, or penetrate 
its interior. And yet, alas ! the lay power of the 
Church is comparatively asleep over this great sub- 
ject. It is a department of usefulness, in which a 
goodly degree of success is never doubtful. How 
pleasing to labor when one is always certain of reap- 
ing what he sows, and that his harvest wiU be pro 
portionate to his efforts ; and that this is true con- 
cerning Sabbath schools, reference need only be 
made to their history. Churches may be established, 
seemingly prosperous and permanent, and yet they 
may wane and die out as one of the seven Churches 
of the Apocalypse. But no vigorous Sabbath school 
ever existed long whose fruits could not be traced, 
not only many days, but many years hence. The 
impress of the hand of the evangelist upon the 



THE HOPE OF CITIES ILLUSTRATED. 347 

childish heart is ineffaceable. Like the first foot- 
prints of animal life in the strata of geology, they are 
more vivid than the impressions of comparative yes- 
terday. The impressions are made in soft clay, but 
preserved in imperishable marble. 

These reflections were induced by reading recently, 
in the ISTew-York Independent, an account of the re- 
markable success of a Sabbath school, organized in 
Brooklyn, on Lee Avenue, by sundry zealous laymen 
of the Reformed Dutch Church. It was organized 
in May, 1853, but little over three years ago, the 
school being opened in a little out-house, with eight 
scholars and three teachers. In less than a year from 
that time, the school numbered forty scholars and 
nine teachers. An effort was then made to raise 
means to build a suitable house for the school, and 
also one that should answer for a place of worship, 
when twelve thousand dollars were raised, and a 
commodious building was erected. Under these 
auspices, by the beginning of the year 1855, the 
roll-book of this city suburban school contained the 
names of twenty-five teachers, and one hundred and 
fifty scholars. The tide having thus commenced to 
swell, it rolled on with accelerated force, until we 
have the following account of its marvelous success, 
which we here quote from the pen of a participant 
in this great work, together, also, with some account 
of the mode of conducting the school : 



348 THE HOPE OF CITIES ILLUSTRATED. 

"The number of scholars whose names are now 
(July, 1856) on the register is 919 ; and the number 
actually in attendance at a session of the school, m the 
warm month of July^ when Sunday schools show their 
lowest figures, was as great as 632 ! The present list 
of teachers numbers precisely 100, while the average 
attendance is 77. About 400 of the scholars regu- 
larly attend the services of the church, and form no 
inconsiderable part of the congregation. The library 
contains 1,600 volumes, a part of which are set aside 
as the ' Congregational Library,' for the use of the 
Sunday-school teachers, and of members of the con- 
gregation. The contributions by the children, for the 
last year, amounted to $500. During the last four- 
teen months the scholars have recited, in the IN'ew 
Testament, 56,604 verses; in the Sunday-school 
Hymn Book, 40,779 ; and Scripture Proofs, 4,268-— 
making a total of 101,651. Such results in a school, 
which is now only three years old, and which at first 
contained hardly a single element that gave promise 
of success, are truly gratifying and wonderful, and 
call for devout gratitude to God for his prospering 
providence. 

" The modes of carrying on the operations of the 
school seemed to be as complete as possible, l^othing 
which promises to make the Sunday school more 
attractive or efficient is left untried. A printed con 
stitution is put into the hands of every one connected 



THE HOPE OF CITIES ILLUSTRATED. 349 

with the management of the school, in which his 
specific duties are clearly defined. Every teacher is 
furnished with a manual, prepared by the superin- 
tendent, containing valuable suggestions and friendly 
counsel. New scholars, as they are enrolled on the 
register, are presented with an ornamental certificate, 
which contains a schedule of the duties which they 
are expected to perform. When a teacher is not 
present in his seat, a printed note is sent to him by 
the superintendent, requesting an immediate answer 
to the cause of absence, that it may be directly 
entered in the ' absentee register.' When a scholar 
is absent, he is visited by the teacher during the 
week, without fail^ and the result of the visit is re- 
ported to the superintendent. Such arrangements, 
thoroughly carried out as they are, tend greatly to 
increase the interest of scholars and teachers in each 
other, and in the school. As a natural result, the 
attendance is regular and large. The superintendent, 
in a recent annual report, says : 

" ' The children are very much devoted and attach- 
ed to the school. They like to come, and do come 
through almost all kinds of weather. On the Sab- 
bath after the great snow-storm, January 5, the 
attendance numbered upward of 200. Hardly a 
shoveled path in the neighborhood was to be found, 
and yet many waded through the snow, over a mile, 
to be at school. Sometimes they might be seen on 



850 THE HOPE OF CITIES ILLUSTEATED. 

the tops of the fences, and sometimes trying to force 
their way through the almost mountains of snow- 
drifts on every side.' " 

The superintendent of this great vitally reform 
school is Jeremiah Johnson, Esq., one of the three 
teachers who made the first beginning. He has pur- 
posely erected his dwelling in the neighborhood of 
the Sabbath school, and devotes nearly his whole 
time to the enterprise, together with the proceeds of 
a liberal fortune with which Providence has favored 
him. Is not this an example worthy to be remem- 
bered and followed ? A recent visitor to this school 
concludes a commimication concerning it in these 
words : 

" The Lee Avenue Sunday School is the greatest 
marvel to its best friends. ISTo adequate idea can be 
given of the extent and character of its operations by 
a simple presentation of statistics. A well-known 
Sunday-school visitor exclaimed on seeing it, that he 
had never seen a Sunday school before. Every 
stranger who visits it is astonished. It is a growing 
light, kindled by the good providence of God in a 
dark place ; and we hope that it may not be confined 
within its own special circle, but shine as a benefi- 
cent example over the whole land." 

As, in military operations, a walled city can rarely 
be successfully sacked but by undermining its foun- 
dations, so the moral Sebastopols of evil that wax so 



THE HOPE OF CITIES ILLUSTKATED. 351 

huge and formidable in our very midst will only 
yield by sapping their foundations. Tlie prattler of 
the cradle, and the one, but a little larger, who would 
venture to dispute the right of place with him, con- 
stitute the foundation stones of these strongholds of 
iniquity and their festering fruits. The Sabbath 
school here sustains the relation of sapper and miner 
to the Church militant, and is, we believe, the hope 

OF GREAT CITIES. 



THE 



POOR WASHERWOMAN, 



By Mrs. CAROLINE A. SOULE. 



THE POOR WASHERWOMAN, 



" I DECLARE, I have half a mind to put this bed- 
quilt into the wash to-day ; it don't really need to 
go, either, but I believe that I'll send it down." 

*' Why ^vill you put it in, Mary, if it does not need 
to go?" asked her good old Aunt Hannah, in her 
quiet and expressive way. 

"Why, you see, aunt, we have but a small wash 
to-day ; so small that Susan will get through by one 
o'clock at the latest, and I shall have to pay her the 
same as though she worked till night, so — " 

" Stop a moment, dear," said the old lady, gently, 

'* stop a moment and think. Suppose you were in 

the situation poor Susan is, obliged, you tell me, to 

toil over the wash-tub six days out of the seven, for 

the bare necessaries of life, would you not be glad, 

once in a while, to get through before night, to have 

a few hours of daylight to labor for yourself and 

famil}^, or, better still, a few hours to rest ? Mary, 

dear, it is a hard, hard way for a v:oman to earn a 

23 



366 THE POOR WASHERWOMAN. 

living; begrucige not the poor creature the half dol- 
lar. This is the fourth day in succession she has 
risen by candle-light and plodded through the cold 
here and there to her customers' houses, and toiled 
away existence. Let her go at noon if she get 
through ; who knows but that she may have come 
from the sick couch of some loved one, and that she 
counts the hours, yes, the minutes, till she can return, 
fearing even she may come one too late. Pat it back 
on the bed, and sit down here while I tell you what 
one poor washerwoman endured, because her em- 
ployer did as you would to make out the wash." 
And the old woman took oif her glasses and wiped 
away the tear drops, that, from some cause, had gath- 
ered in her aged eyes, and then with a tremulous 
voice related the promised story : 

" There was never a more blithesome bridal than 
that of Adeline Raleigh's. There was never a maid- 
en who went to the marriage altar with higher 
hopes, more blissful anticipations. "Wedding the 
man of her choice, he whose love-tones had ever 
thrilled her heart like a music gush from the land of 
light, he who was dearer to her than her own exist- 
ence, a young, talented, noble fellow, one of whom 
any woman might be proud, it was no wonder that 
morn seemed a golden waif from Eden. Few, in- 
deed, have a sunnier life in prospect than had she. 

"And for ten years there fell no shadow on her 



THE POOR WASHERWOMAN. 857 

path. Her liome was one of beauty and rare luxury, 
her husband the same kind, gentle, loving man, as 
in the days of courtship, winning laurels every year, 
in his profession, adding new comforts to his home 
and new joys to his fireside; and besides these bless- 
ings, God had given another; a little crib stood by 
her bedside, its tenant, a golden-haired baby-boy, the 
image of its noble father, and dearer to those wedded 
lovers, than anght else earth could o£ter. 

" But I must not dwell on those happy days ; my 
story has to do with other ones. It was with them 
as oft it is with others; just when the cup is sweetest, 
it is dashed away ; just when the beam is brightest, 
the clouds gather. A series of misfortunes and re- 
verses occurred with startling rapidity, and swept 
away from them everything but love and their baby- 
boy. Spared to one another and to that, they bore 
a brave heart, and in a distant city began a new for- 
tune. Well and strongly did they struggle, and at 
length began once more to see the sunlight of pros- 
perity shine upon their home. But a little while it 
stayed, and then the shadows fell. The husband sick- 
ened and lay for many a month upon a weary couch, 
languishing not only with mental and bodily pain, 
but oftentimes for food and medicines. All that she 
could do, the wife performed with a faithful hand. 
She went from one thing to another, till, at length, 
she who had worn a satin garb and pearls upon her 



368 THE POOR WASHERWOMAN. 

bridal day, toiled at the wash-tub for the scantiest 
living. Long before light she would rise every morn- 
ing, and labor for the dear ones of her lowly home, 
and then, with many a kiss upon the lips of her pale 
companion and sleeping boy, start out through the 
cold, deep snow, and grope her way to the too often 
smoky, gloomy kitchen, and toil there at rubbing, 
pounding, rinsing, starching, not unfrequently wading 
knee deep in the drifts, to hang out the clothes that 
froze even ere she had fastened them to the line. 
And when night came, with her half dollar, she 
would again grope through the cold and snow to her 
ofttimes lightless and fireless home, for her husband 
was too sick much of the time, to tend even the fire 
or strike a light. And O, with what a shivering 
heart she would draw near them, fearing ever she 
would be too late. It is a fact, that for six weeks, at 
one time, she never saw the face of her husband or 
her child, save by lamplight, except only on the Sab- 
bath. How glad she would have been to have once 
in a while a small washing gathered for her ! 

" One dark winter morning, as she was busy pre- 
paring the frugal breakfast and getting everything 
ready ere she left, her husband called her to the bed- 
side. 

" ' Ada,' said he, in almost a whisper, ' I want you 
should try and get home early to-night ; be home be- 
fore sundown, do, Ada.' 



THE POOR WASHERWOMAN. 359 

" ' I'll try,' answered she with a choked utterance. 

" 'Do try, Ada. I have a strange desire to see your 
face by sunlight ; to-day is Friday ; I have not seen 
it since Sunday ; I must look upon it once again.' 

" ' Do you feel worse, Edward V asked she anxious- 
ly, feeling his pulse as' she spoke. 

" ' ISTo, no, I think not ; but I do want to see your 
face once more by sunlight. I cannot wait till Sun- 
day.' 

"Gladly would she tarry by his bedside till the sun- 
light should have stolen through their little window, 
but it might not be. She was penniless, and in the 
dusk of morning must go forth to labor. She left 
him, sweet kisses were given and taken, and sweet 
words whispered in the sweetest love-tones. She 
reached the kitchen of her employer, and with a 
troubled face waited for the basket to be brought. 
A beautiful smile played over her wan face as she 
assorted its contents. She could get through easily 
by two o'clock, yes, and if she hurried, perhaps by 
one. Love and anxiety lent new strength to her 
weary arms ; and five minutes after the clock struck 
one, she hangs th« last garment on the line, and was 
just about emptying her tubs, when the mistress 
came in with a couple of bed-quilts, and saying, 

" ' As you have so small a wash to-day, Adeline, 
I think you may do these yet,' "left the room 
again. A wail of agony, wrung from the deepest 



360 THE POOR WASHERWOMAN. 

fountain of her heart, gushed to her lips. Smother- 
ing it as best she could, she again took up the board 
and rubbed, rinsed, and hung out. It was half past 
three, when again she started for home, an hour toe 
lateP'^ and the aged narrator sobbed. 

" An hour too late," continued she, after a long 
pause. " Her husband was dying, yes, almost gone ! 
He had strength given him to whisper a few words 
to the half-frantic wife, to tell her how he had longed 
to look upon her face, and that till the clock struck 
two, he could see, but after that, though ho strained 
every nerve, he lay in the shadow of death ; one 
hour she pillowed his head upon her suffering heart, 
and then — he was at rest I 

" But for the thoughtless or grudging exaction of 
her mistress, she had once more seen the love-light 
flash in her husband's eyes, and he have looked upon 
her who was so dear. 

"Mary, Mary dear," and there was a soul-touch- 
ing emphasis in the aged woman's words, " be kind 
to year washerwoman; instead of striving to make 
her day's work as long as may be, shorten it, light- 
en it. 

" Few women will go out to dayly washing unless 
their needs are terrible. !N"o woman on her bridal 
day expects to labor in that way ; and be sure, my 
niece, if constrained to do so, it is the last resort. 
That poor woman laboring now so hard for you, has 



THE POOR WASHERWOMAN. 361 

not always been a washerwoman. She has seen 
bright, gladsome hours. She has seen awful trials, 
too. I can read her story in her pale, sad face. Be 
kind to her, pay her all she asks, and let her go home 
as early as she can." 

■» -jt ■?«•** * 

•' You have finished in good season to-day, Susan," 
said Mrs. Merton, as the washerwoman, with her old 
cloak and hood on, entered the pleasant chamber to 
ask her pay. 

"Yes, ma'am, that I have, and my heart, ma'am, 
is relieved of a heavy load, too. I was so afraid I 
should be kept till night, and I am needed so at 
home." 

"Is there sickness there?" said Aunt Hannah, 
kindly. 

Tears gushed to the woman's eyes as she answered, 
'• Ah, ma'am, I left my baby most dead this morn- 
ing ; he will be quite so to-morrow ; I know it, I 
have seen it too many times, and none but a child of 
nine years to attend it. O, I must go, and quickly." 
And grasping the money, the hard-earned money 
that she had toiled for, while her baby was dying, 
that when dead it might have a decent shroud, she 
hurried to her dreary home. 

They followed her ; the young wife who had never 
known a sorrow, and the aged matron whose hair 
was white with trouble, followed her to her home, 



362 THE POOR WASHERWOMAN. 

the home of the drunkard's wife, the drunkard's 
babes. She was not too late. The wee dying boy 
knew its mother, yet craved a draught from her loving 
breast. Until midnight she pillowed him there, and 
then kind hands took from her the breathless form, 
closed the bright eyes, straightened the tiny limbs, 
bathed the cold clay, and folded about it the pure 
white shroud, yes, and did more. They gave, wha< 
the poor so seldom have, time to weep. 

"O, aunt," said Mrs. Merton, with tears in her 
eyes, as, having seen the little coffined babe borne to 
its last home, they returned to their own happy one ; 
" if my heart blesses you, how much more must poor 
Susan's ! Had it not been for you, she would have 
been too late, the baby would not have known its 
mother. It has been a sad, yet holy lesson ; I shall 
always now be kind to the poor washerwoman. But, 
aunt, was the story you told me a tru^one — all true, 
I mean ?" 

"The reality of that story whitened this head, 
when it had seen but thirty summers, and the mem- 
ory of it has been one of my keenest sorrows. It is 
not strange that I should pity the poor washerwo- 
man; Adeline and Aunt Hannah are one and the 



QUARTERLY MEETING OF OLDEN TIME. 



QUARTERLY MEETING OF OLDEN TIME. 



Some memorials of these gatherings and spiritual 
pentecosts have not yet faded from our mind before 
the changes of later years. Tliey are enfolded there 
in fragrance, like flowers within the leaves of a book. 
Let us see. We remember a quarterly meeting 
of the image and superscription we would like to 
sketch. The church was of logs, long, hewed logs, 
from tall forests, covered with clapboards, or a rude 
species of shingle riven from the oak. It was oblong, 
and the door about midway of the side, directly 
facing the pulpit on the opposite side. The flooring 
and pulpit were of ash, and hailed from a distant 
saw-mill, and were considered evidence of architect- 
ural skill and an advanced state of civilization. The 
pulpit was a little oblong box, with a breastwork 
reaching nearly to the armpits of the tallest preach- 
ers, and as destitute of all trimming and ornament 
as if, studiously, it was designed to be a standing 
memento of that adage descriptive of the reh'gion to 



366 A QUARTERLY MEETING 

which it was devoted, " when unadorned adorned the 
most." A small six-light window was just in the 
rear of it, with corresponding ones at each end, and 
at the right and left of the door. The seats consisted 
of i-ude, backless benches, and a little poplar table, 
never defiled with a varnish brush, stood just in 
front of the pulpit. This was considered, for those 
days, not only a convenient, but a rather tasty 
church, and was dignified, par excellence, by the 
title, and extensively known thereby, of Mount 
Tabor Meeting-House. It was a prominent appoint- 
ment, in a thickly-populated rnral district, a neigh- 
borhood which was honored by one of the circuit 
preachers, spending his two weekly " rest days " 
therein. Quarterly meetings then drew together the 
brethren from all parts of an extensive circuit, and 
they were looked to as quadrennial festivals, in 
which faith was certain to have a feast of fat things, 
and the social ties of Methodism be again brightened, 
strengthened, and extended. The preacher gave out 
from appointment to appointment the time and place 
of the " next quarterly meeting," seldom urging an 
attendance, as this was unnecessary. The Friday 
previous to the meeting, especially in the neighbor- 
liood where it was to occur, was, emphatically, a 
day of "preparing to eat the passover." The 
quarterly fast was generally observed for the good 
of the man spiritual, and very liberal preparations 



OF OLDEN TIME. 367 

were made for the benefit of the man physical, 
for those numerous guests with which every farm- 
house adjacent to the church was expected to be 
crowded. It was a delightful expectation. Hospi- 
tality of this sort was a thing of the heart, a family 
aflfair, a reciprocal service. Yes, Friday before 
quarterly meeting ! what a day of hope, and of 
expectation, of anticipated friendship, and of ecstasy, 
did we 'oil feel it to be. The wood pile in the yard 
is growing high under loads that are being rapidly 
" snaked" or sledded there. In the kitchen the large 
fire blazes on the hearth ; cook stoves did not belong 
to that era and latitude ; and the Dutch oven is filled 
to its utmost capacity with the great " pone," and it 
may be that a few wheaten loaves have been 
secured by way of special luxury, should the family 
be honored by any of the preachers or their 
stafi", in the way of local preachers, exhorters, 
class-leaders, or stewards, men who were alive in 
those days ; " for there were giants in those days." 
On a rickety table that quivered to the pressure, the 
flat-iron was being faithfully applied to new check 
aprons, to flaxen or home-made linen with cotton 
collars, to sun-bonnets recently washed and newly 
"done up," etc., etc. The cabin yard is being swept 
by Jane, and the chips and dust removed just three 
yards further from the door, than had been the case 
a long time before. The old lady, mother of a large 



368 A QUARTERLY MEETING 

group, having inspected her beds for the twentieth 
time, to see that all was aufait, sits knitting with a 
corn-cob pipe in her mouth in the best room in the 
house, watching the boiling of a pot of pumpkin, 
laying her pipe down occasionally and singing, 

"How tedious and tasteless the hours 

When Jesus no longer I see ! 
Sweet prospects, sweet birds, and sweet flowers, 

Have all lost their sweetness to me : 
The midsummer sun shines but dim, 

The fields strive in vain to look gay ; 
But when I am happy in Him, 

December's as pleasant as May." 

At that moment she advances toward the little 
cupboard at the right of the chimney, to re-inspect 
her pound of " boughten coffee," and that " quarter- 
ing " of tea, which had cost one bushel of corn and 
six dozen of eggs at the village store, and which 
were to be brought on to the table for the expected 
guests as luxuries as rare as they were regaling. 

The old gentleman is inspecting his stacks and his 
stalls, knowing that his neighbor from " Big Kiver," 
or "Crooked Creek," will have need of them. A suc- 
cessful visit to the poultry-yard is expected to be made 
in the evening ; and thus the day, in pleasant duties 
and sweet expectancy, passes away. The pious, art- 
less, and hospitable family that we have looked in 
upon, only constitutes one of a quarter of a hundred, 



OF OLDEN TIME. 369 

filling a large area around this rural church of loved 
resort. 

Saturday morning arrives, and bright and early all 
is astir. By ten o'clock, a large number have assem- 
bled in and about the meeting-house, dressed in their 
best homespuns, (this, however, is only especially true 
of the young people,) giving but little evidence that 
the village merchant was very extensively patronized. 
All the roads and paths leading to the church were 
being watched by a hundred anxious eyes. Brothel's 
and sistei-s in the Lord and in the flesh, uncles, aunts, 
and cousins, grandpas and grandmas with their heads 
of snow, are to meet that day. At first, equestrian 
after equestrian comes in, as if by way of herald. But 
soon the main army follows. A long string of horse- 
men and horsewomen (wagons are rarities and car- 
riages unknown ) come trotting and pacing on their 
winding way. A mother is on a side-saddle, with 
her little son behind and lesser son in her lap. Tlie 
husband rides by her side, or oftener before, carrying, 
perhaps, the rest of the family. A newly-married 
couple, or those who intend to be, occupy only the 
back of one favorite nag. Single riders are rare. The 
territory of a horse's back is appropriated on princi- 
ples of the highest utilitarianism. Here and there, a 
farm-wagon with a fine span, indicating the inception 
of rural aristocracy, may roll up with its smiling 
burden. The work of dismounting is but one of a 



370 A QUARTERLY MEETING 

moment, when fence corners, limbs of trees, etc., are 
readily appropriated for hitching posts. Tlie gather- 
ing continues, and greetings are exchanged, and the 
words, " You must go home with me after meeting," 
and "You with me," and "With me," passes rapidly 
from lip to lip. Brethren in the church have com 
menced singing. - 

" Come, thou Fount of every blessing," 

rings, for the thousandth time, from tuneful lips, in 
rude but spiritual music. But the preacher has not 
come yet. Several local brethren, with their broad- 
brimmed hats and circular coats, are indeed there. 
The time has nearly arrived for the sermon ; and with 
no small solicitude is the inquiry circulated. Is the 
presiding elder, and are our preachers, in the neigh- 
borhood ? In a few moments it is discovered that the 
family with whom they generally tarry have not yet 
arrived. All solicitude is gone ; the preachers will be 
here in a moment. That good old song, 

*' O how happy are they, 
Who their Saviour obey," 

is struck up. The church is nearly filled to its utmost 
capacity. The old fathers, a little hard of hearing, 
take their seats directly under the pulpit. The local 
preachers cluster about it, but no one presumes to 
enter it. But yonder comes the elder, with the senior 
and junior preachers in his train. He is well mount- 



OF OLDEN TIME. 371 

edjWith his saddle-bags pressing out on each side like 
panniers on the back of a camel. He wears a large 
white hat, with a six-inch brim, containing material 
enough to make half a dozen of your modern wafer 
ones. With the exception of his coat, he is dressed 
in jeans, which have been a little too long from the 
loom, and look somewhat seedv. For the cut of his 
coat, we must refer ^^ou to a Quaker of the strictest 
sect. His neck is muffled with no kerchief, as he 
maintains staunchly that neckerchiefs are the cause 
of all throat diseases. His countenance is sallow, 
morally good, with a gravity which seems to border a 
little on sadness. Underlying all, however, is that 
boldness of the lion, which belongs to the righteous. 
His eyes are deep set and wide apart, nose very long, 
mouth nearly dividing his whole face ; and grasping 
in his gloveless hand a huge whip, he raises himself 
np in his cowhide boots as lie comes in sight of the 
meeting-house, and nearly forms the perpendicular of 
a six-footer. He heaves a pious sigh by way of ejac- 
idatory prayer, which is followed by the increased 
gravity of countenance of his accompanying preach- 
ers, with whom, with saddle-bags on their arms, he 
soon enters the church under the affectionate scrutiny 
of every eye, followed by the family whose guests 
they had been through the night. If a few special 
airs should be put on by some members of this family, 
consequent upon the dignity which their beloved 

24 



372 A QUARTERLY MEETING 

guests had bestowed upon them, if a little special, 
not wholly enviless, attention should be shown them, 
it should surprise none acquainted with that singular 
institution called human nature. 

Of the sermon and the services of this hour, we 
have not space to speak. Suffice it to say, that it was 
primitively simple, followed by an exhortation by 
some exhorter or local preacher, that filled the house 
with amens, sobs, and shouts. Then follows a slight 
inspection of the audience by the preacher, who sees 
representatives there from all parts of his circuit, the 
commingling of a diversity of neighborhoods in one 
spirit ; and he feels, and all feel, that the social ele- 
ment of such a gathering is specially subservient to 
the cause of religion. He announces the appointments 
for the subsequent part of the day, especially the love- 
feast, which is to follow on Sabbath morning, when 
the door is to be guarded after a certain hour with a 
stringency that would exclude a bishop. 

The congregation is now dismissed, and after a little 
mounting and remounting, amid gushings of hearty 
greetings, a little marching and countermarching, all 
slowly retire to their homes from this rural altar, mak- 
ing the highways and hedges, the hidden paths and 
mountain passes, vocal with the voice of gladness and 
with songs of praise ; each family bearing away its por- 
tion of guests, who " came to stay through the meet- 
ing," as prizes which they had lawfully appropriated. 



or OLDEN TIME. 873 

The pious are not expecting a revival at that quar- 
terly meeting, for " that which a man hath, why doth 
he yet hope for ?" They come in the spirit of revival, 
and go directly to work in a revival spirit. At their 
houses, while some, like Martha, are engaged in serv- 
ing, others are found at the feet of Jesus; and the 
voice of rejoicing is heard in the tabernacles of the 
righteous. There is found use for the mourner's bench 
in the evening ; and the sighs of the penitent, praises 
of the delivered, and gratulations of the saints, con- 
tinue until a late hour. The love-feast on the Sabbath 
morning was like the first morning to the old hungry 
Israelites, when the ground was covered with manna, 
and the heavens seemed honey-combed over them. 
It was a season of sweetness, of sanctifying power and 
holy rapture. The slain of the Lord were many. 

Scenes of rural artlessness, when man had but little 
and w^anted less, why are ye fled ? Scenes of prim- 
itive simplicity, w*hen ostentation and pride, the mach- 
inations and arts of a more artificial society, were 
comparatively unknown, will ye ever return again ? 
Alas ! the old-fashioned quarterly meeting is hence- 
forth to be but a thing of history, fiut if we cannot 
restore it, can we not substitute something equally 
good and useful ? 



LIGHTS AND SHADES IN ITINERANCY. 



LIGHTS AND SHADES IN ITINERANCY 



This phrase has become stereotyped. It has be- 
come the title of books upon the subject, and litera- 
ture of this species is on the increase. Having been 
twenty-five years in the itinerancy, and labored in an 
early day, from the wilds of Arkansas to the peninsula 
of Michigan ; having engaged in nearly all the possible 
forms of itinerancy, and lived after every conceivable 
fashion, without a shelter, and with one ; without mon- 
ey, and with it ; in tents, and in ceiled houses, we may 
be supposed to know a little of the " lights and shades" 
in itinerancy, and would, therefore, show our opinion. 
We believe there is a great error in treating this sub- 
ject. It is treated exjoarte. Tlie ''shades" are exag- 
gerated, and the " lights" undervalued. Tlie thing is 
treated as if the people were always in fault, and the 
preachers always faultless. We are not among those 
who would conceal the real difficulties and embarrass- 
ments of an itinerant's life even under the most favor- 
able circumstances. But there are maihy who have 



378 LIGHTS AND SHADES 

been as long in the itinerancy as we, who, had they 
their lives to re-spend, would engage again at once in 
this career of so much trial and responsibility. They 
feel that if there were dark days, there w^ere also 
many days mellow with the richest sunlight of joy. 
Indeed, start a man's heart once to itinerating, he is 
seldom fit for anything else, and if compelled, by 
any means, to stop in his orbit, he becomes like a 
caged lion, restless to move forward again in this 
homeless mode of life. There is a lure here, a spe- 
cies, we had nearly said, of holy magic, the existence 
of which is less easily to be accounted for, than one 
might at first suppose. But it is a fact, nevertheless. 
The preacher who has been once active in the itin- 
erant field, is always panting, even under the great- 
est embarrassments, superannuation, or what not, to 
shoulder his crutch, and fight his battles over again. 
Perhaps we have an indication here of the divinity 
of the system. 

We apprehend that these "shades" occasionally 
originate, in part, with the preacher. Our system of 
supplying our extended work, especially in an early 
day, was operated with but a very slight regard 
to a severe eclecticism in the matter of , multiplying 
our preachers. Inadequacy, inexperience, abounded 
largely, and that, too, of necessity. Among many of 
our itinerants, some were constitutionally defective, 
^yholly unimpowered in the art of persuading men, 



IN ITINERANCY. 879 

or socially interesting them. To all these men is to 
be awarded sincerity, though many have entered 
upon their calling prematurely, while with others, 
again, it had never been their calling. They con- 
ceived of the itinerant work, as a kind of stroll 
through Elysian fields, in which they were not ex- 
actly in heaven, and yet very far removed from the 
prose and common things of earth. Tliey were to 
preach, and the Church was to see that they wanted 
nothing. E^ow, true views of duty, of what is re- 
quired of the itinerant, could scarcely be expected to 
obtain in such a mind. When they begin to want, 
they begin to grumble. Grumbling is a very un- 
sightly virtue. It is of rank gi-owth, and its habit 
soon fixed, and from a grumbler before the Lord and 
the Church, may we ever be delivered. From this 
character, and othei*s that might be mentioned, the 
people often feel that they are not receiving all they 
have a right to expect. The discouragement be- 
comes mutual, but the people come in for all the 
blame. Have not such scenes as these ever oc- 
curred? Men have been put in, and kept in the 
ministry, because of their age and talents, for of this 
class, there are able preachers, who never passed a 
year in peace, in any society, though in some por- 
tions of the year, they might have had great prosper- 
ity. There is about such men a constitutional impru- 
dence, a rashness, a want of patience, to abide the 



880 LIGHTS AND SHADES 

time of things, and it is a kind of physiological ne- 
cessity for such to have an annual altercation, in 
some way, with some person, to work off this ultra- 
biliousness. Are the " shades" all on one side here ? 
Another example. A young man of twenty is con- 
verted at a camp-meeting. He is of Methodist 
parentage, and the child of many prayers. His 
conversion is thorough. He is soon licensed to ex- 
hort. This is followed by a license to preach, and a 
recommendation to the traveling connection. Last 
year he plowed, this year he is junior preacher on 

circuit, or, it may be, he is the sole preacher of 

the circuit. The only merit as a preacher he pos- 
sesses, or could expect to possess, is the fervor of his 
first love, and his zeal in the good cause. In propor- 
tion as these wane, and wane they will and must, to 
some extent, he is shorn of his power. He has noth- 
ing to fall back upon. In all the matter of theologi- 
cal acquisition, he has only come to the beginning 
point. The brethren respect him. Some, we are 
sorry to say, pity him, for he, perhaps, will not con- 
sider it a compliment. With him, no habits of study 
are fixed. It is too late in life for him to submit to 
much sedentary habit. He has no one to learn him 
how to begin to learn. His appointments are mostly 
confined to the four Sabbaths of his circuit, and hav- 
ing begun to feel some native diflidence, he has little 
dispomtion to extemporize any. During the secular 



IN ITINERANCY. 881 

days, on which lie is not engaged, he reads a little by 
patches, joins a fishing excursion, or rides home, fifty 
miles, to see his mother, returns to some favorite 
preacher's home, which he seems little disposed to 
exchange for others, eats heartily, and often has to be 
called up to breakfast and prayers, and then visits 
his people on Sabbath, not only without beaten oil, 
but with no oil. Now, if in the matter of collecting 
quarterage for such preachers, paying the debts they 
incur, etc., there be some, and, at times, much friction, 
is it a matter of much surprise ? Tlie " shades" are 
not all on one side here, we are thinking. Examples 
of other classes might be multiplied, but we forbear. 
The truth is in this matter, as in all others, the peo* 
pie are looking for a kind of quid pro quo^ and 
though it is not exactly and always, " poor preach, 
poor pay," yet the principle points with a sharp angle 
in this direction. The preacher who gets into the 
people's hearts, will generally share the liberty of 
their pockets, and he whose reputation on his circuit 
and station has been irreproachable, and who leaves 
a balmy memory in his career, will have but few 
enemies, as it would be unpopular to be such, and 
those whom he has, will only fall out to his good, by 
acting as a spnr to the vigilance of his friends, in the 
protection of his reputation. Such an itinerant will 
suffer little from that small-souled sort of people 
found everywhere, the croaker, and that still more 



382 LIGHTS AND SHADES 

despicable character, the Church member who must al- 
ways be criticising even the domestic habits of the min- 
ister, having an eye to peep in the kitchen, the ward^ 
robe, and especially to keep posted up in reference 
to the dress and bonnet worn by the itinerant's wife. 
ITow, of all we have further to say on this subject, 
the following is the sum from our experience : We 
have passed through the very rough and tumble of 
itinerant life, if any man ever did. If we have not 
fought with beasts at Ephesus, we have with black- 
jack, brushwood, and bears, as we have ascended the 
Gasconade Eiver, on our way to seek the " lost sheep 
of the house of Israel," and it certainly required 
some search. For if "rocks and mountains" 
could hide from the Almighty, this part of Missouri 
would be the very place for the miserable refugee. 
Nature, here, seems, back in the dateless ages, in 
some volcanic eruption, to have thrown to the surface 
of the earth, what belonged to its center. Indeed, as 
if in anticipation of Missouri ruffianism itself, the 
agencies of nature seem here to have turned prophet, 
and to have fitly characterized portions of Missouri 
as the Judas of states : and " falling down, his 
bowels gushed out." Again, we have enjoyed 
the well-regulated circuit, the station of the beautiful 
rural village, the more responsible one of the city, 
and for our part, amid all our toils and trials, 
occasionally some real suffering, the "lights" with 



IN ITINERANCY. 883 

US have fully equaled the "shades," ay, surpassed 
them, as much as the brightness of the day does 
the ordinary darkness of the night. We have found 
that where we have succeeded in getting the people 
to love us, and to appreciate our labors, they 
manifested anything else than a disposition to starve 
us, or even suffer us knowingly to want a compe- 
tency. We have found that it is not foolish preach- 
ing, though it might be the foolishness of preaching, 
that the people wanted ; that if the former had 
been in demand, the world had been converted long 
ere this. We bless God for the itinerancy, and 
had we a thousand lives, they should be spent in this 
sweet but checkered mode of seeking to win the 
world to Christ. Halleluiah ! our heart wakes up at 
many joyful retrospects of glorious revival seasons, 
the quarterly meetings, and camp-meetings, where 
one seems for a season abstracted from the earth, and 
by a sweet and mysterious spiritual chemistry, 
becomes assimilated with the skies ! IS'ature has put 
on new garments of beauty. The word of God 
sweeter than honey and the honey-comb. Every 
Christian, a John for your bosom, and a Jonathan 
for your confidence, while your love for sinners has 
possessed a winning power which no one has been 
able to gainsay or resist. Glory to God for the 
" lights " of the itinerancy, and let the " shades," say 
we, take care of themselves. 



GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 



GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 



REV. JOHN DEMPSTER, D.D., 

PRESIDENT OF GARRETT BIBLICAL INSTITUTE. 

" And well his words became him. Was he not 
A full-celled honeycomb of eloquence 
Stored from all flowers ? Poet like he spoke." 

Dr. Dempstek has just obtained the floor from us, 
at first, much to our regret, but subsequently, much 
to our gratification. He has made one of the speech- 
es of the session, on the compatibility of the insertion 
of a rule prohibiting any further slaveholding in the 
Church, in the seventh chapter, with the General 
Eule. He has shown clearly that the spirit of the 
latter requires the former statute, and that it is not, 
therefore, unconstitutional. His speech is senten- 
tious, resistless in its logic, and mainly lucid. It is 
just concluded, and has been received with great 
favor. The occasion has prompted this imperfect 

sketch. Of the parentage, early history, and educa- 

25 



388 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

tion of this venerable man, we know just nothing. • 
Of his labors since his name was associated with our 
itinerancy, as a pastor, foreign missionary, and educa- 
tionalist, we can give at present no consecutive view. 
We can only say, that for the last twenty years we 
have associated the name of Dempster with much 
that is eloquent as a writer, and more that is elo- 
quent as a preacher, and with all that is guileless 
and commendable as a devoted, self-sacrificing Chris- 
tian. Our personal acquaintance with him has been 
of recent occurrence, but his name has long been to 
us a source of inspiration, as being the name of one 
who had reached a very high point in his profession, 
and who possessed the power to move men. In look- 
ing to-day upon the good old disciple, whose health, 
though generally good for one of his ripe age, has re- 
cently been much impaired by severe attacks of the 
ague; iin gazing upon his thin, sallow, flabby cheeks; 
his mouth, which shows the marks of time, and out of 
which words have so often gone on so magic a mis- 
sion; his only skin-covered brow, which projects over 
piercing, restless eyes, like a promontory, and listen- 
ing to the enfeebled tones of his voice, once so rich, 
musical, and of so wide a compass; on seeing his 
whole frame toddle under the weight of his efforts 
like an old man-of-war, trembling in every joint from 
the reaction of a broadside, we are induced, at least, 
after saying. Well done, brother ; your day and gener- 



REV. JOHN DEMPSTER. 889 

ation have thus far been faithfully served by you, to 
attempt a charcoal sketch of some of his mental, pro- 
fessional, and social characteristics, as they have from 
time to time impressed us. 

All true poets, it is said, are metaphysicians, but 
the converse of the proposition is not true. All met- 
aphysicians are not poets. Brother Dempster is a 
metaphysician, and though he be not a poet, the 
style of some of his compositions would seem to indi- 
cate that nature had at first intended to blend the 
two characters in one, but abandoned her design 
when the poet was but half made. The rhetoric of 
the poet belongs to Dr. D. His prose sentences are 
often as regularly measured as the lines of Homer. 
His taste for the music of words, when they treasure 
within themselves great thoughts and are only sing- 
ing to their burden, is strongly marked. This sheds 
a marked individualism over his style, nearly allied 
to fancy, but a little too masculine for it. Indeed, 
Dr. D.'s poetic conceptions seem to have been form- 
ed more from the beauty of the relations of truth, 
than from the breathings of living nature about him. 
He looks upon a principle with the eye of a poet, 
more than on prairies gorgeous in carpets of green. 
He dwells more among the forest of abstract truths, 
thaii among the forest of leafy green ; hence, that 
quiet glow of fancy and rich rhetorical rhythm in his 
productions, which, while they are felt to be natural 



390 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

to him, and are not wanting in power to impart 
pleasure to the reader or hearer, yet one drawback 
in this pleasure is felt to consist in the fact that they 
are too artificial. Like Grecian statuary, beautiful 
but cold. The flower is artificial rather than fresh 
from gathering. In early life, the animus of the 
orator, now sacrificed to infirmity, supplied this lack, 
and justified the very high reputation which Dr. D. 
has left behind him as an eloquent and impassioned 
preacher. 

"We have said he was a metaphysician. He is 
always dwelling among primitive principles, com- 
mences no subject without announcing his categoiy, 
and, as a general thing, builds a wall-work of logic 
around the truth he would defend, as immovable as 
Gibraltar. Perhaps it is to be regretted, that now 
and then the crystal-like perspicuity of the thorough 
logician is lost sight of in a metaphysical haze, and 
though you are prepared to admit his conclusions, 
and generally feel that you cannot do otherwise, yet, 
every step by which the reasoner reached them is 
not so clearly seen by you. Dr. D. (and it is but too 
often the error of the greatest of minds, and few ever 
possessed a greater than he) lives too much in the 
subjective, and too little in the objective. This ten- 
dency of his mind, we fully believe, has grown with 
his growth and strengthened with his strength, until 
it has become a fixed habit of years. Brother Demp- 



REV. JOHN DEMPSTER. 391 

ster, though always popular in his public ministra- 
tions, in a good sense, can never be popular and 
effective equal to his real powers. This communion 
of the mind with things internal and abstract, so dis- 
proportionately with the communion of the mind 
with things external and concrete, is too apt to pro- 
duce this sense of inexplicableness. The author 
makes discoveries and distinctions that are so wholly 
new and unconfirmed by experience that we cannot 
feel their force. The first school-teacher of mankind 
is experience ; the philosophy of those who are to be 
taught, is always one oi fact^ and not of abstraction. 
And whenever we deal in abstract truths so profound 
that they are not found to be verified in ordinary 
experience, we speak to the mass in an unknown 
tongue. 

Indomitable energy, with always an object in view, 
seems always to have been a characteristic of Dr. 
Dempster. And now that his face is deeply fur- 
rowed by time, and he must inevitably feel the press- 
ure of years, yet he seems resolved never to grow 
old. The will may add as many years to the life, as 
were mercifully vouchsafed to the penitent Hezekiah. 
Greatheart is a great character. There is such a thing 
as realizing the fabled elixir of perpetual youth. Dr. 
D. comes as near to it as any man we ever knew. He 
is a young old man, mentally and morally, or rather 
an old man who has learned how to become old. He 



892 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

seems, by anticipation, to have thoroughly studied the 
infirmities of age and its concomitant weaknesses, and 
when the time arrived that he should be swayed by 
their influence, he governs himself by the conclusions 
of former years. It is a hard lesson to learn, especially 
among clergymen, this thing of learning how to be- 
come old. In our experience, we have found vanity 
as strongly manifested in gray hairs as we have in the 
inexperienced youth of twenty. Old age, too, is sel- 
dom studious, but lives wholly upon past resources. 
This indulgence, perhaps, should be readily granted 
to it. But in the case of Dr. D. it is quite difterent. 
He pursues his studies with all the energy and regu- 
larity of one who has only heard the clock of life's 
day strike ten. A freshness, currency, and adapted- 
ness are thus generally imparted to his conversation 
and public ministrations. He does not make the 
mistake of sexagenarians generally, and live in the 
past rather than the present. 

His social intercourse is marked by a model eti- 
quette. Deference, simplicity, courtesy, and kindness, 
characterize all his intercourse with his brethren. In 
conversation he is highly gifted. He makes no waste 
of words, but his utterances are epigrammatic. He 
seems as much at home among that class of authors 
which we denominate rare, as in the cii'cle of his own 
familiar friends. Socially, however, we sometimes fear 
that Dr. D. is falling too much in love with the dead 



REV. JOHN DEMPSTER. 398 

for the good of the liviug. Society is compelled to 
seek him rather than he seek society. 

Our readers need not be informed that Dr. Demp- 
ster, the founder of the flourishing Biblical Institute 
at Concord, K. H., is now the president of the Garrett 
Biblical Institute, located at Evanston, eleven miles 
north of Chicago. Though this institution is yet in 
embryo, and it doth not yet appear what it shall be, 
yet under his wise supervision and tutorship, fruits 
have already resulted from it that have widely in- 
spired public confidence, and justify the most sanguine 
hopes for the future. Dr. D. emigrated west some two 
years since, and notwithstanding the engrossing duties 
of his professional chair, he has often filled our pulpits 
in this city, and complied with calls from abroad for 
dedications and other special occasions, never failing 
to give the highest satisfaction. He is a member of 
the Rock River Conference, which he now represents 
on this floor. We know little of the preparations 
lie makes for the pulpit, but his sermons are always 
found highly finished, pregnant with thought, and 
warm with the unmixed blood of evangelism. We 
hear liim with mingled emotions of pain and pleasure : 
of pleasure, that we are permitted to feast our ears 
and heart upon such messages ; of pain, to think that 
the man physical has lost its wonted strength, while 
the man mental is still the same in force and fire. 
A weak voice and age-withered frame command pro- 



394 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

found veneration, but still greatly diminish the powers 
of delivery. We sigh, too, to think that that voice, 
growing fainter and fainter, must soon be silent for- 
ever, and the light, if not of genius, the steadier shin- 
ing of a noble and rare talent, go out in the darkness 
of the grave. May the day be distant ! 

In what we have said about the occasional abstract- 
edness and obscurity of passages in Dr. D.'s ministra- 
tions, we would not have it understood that they occur 
frequently, especially in his ordinary and more popu- 
lar discourses. 

A striking trait in Dr. Dempster's social and profes- 
sional character is, his generosity and disinterestedness. 
He is as enviless as an infant, and prone rather to 
overestimate the talents of his brethren than the con- 
trary, and, certainly, prone always to undervalue his 
own. An atmosphere of generosity and magnanimous 
impulse surrounds him, like the robe of a prophet. 
He is a lovable man, and a single interview with a 
family endears every member of it to him. 

Though as economical as Luther, who would not 
waste a straw, as it might serve to thicken the thatch 
of a poor man's cottage, yet he attaches no value to 
money or possessions, further than they can be made 
to serve the great purpose of perfecting some pending 
enterprise, and glorifying God. And as to office or 
official position, these must always seek him, and not 
he them ; and whether called to fill the humblest or 



REV. WM. F. FARRINGTON. 895 

the highest place, it is equally a matter of indifference, 
only so that the work stop not. This total abandon- 
ment, this absorption into the work of the ministry 
and its concomitant auxiliaries, is quite too rare. 
May examples be multiplied ! 



REV. WILLIAM F. FARRINGTON, 

OF MAINE CONFERENCE. 

" Love and meekness, lord, 
Become a Churchman better than ambition ; 
Win straying souls, and with modesty again, 
Cast none away." 

In person, there is a disproportion between bone 
and muscle in Brother F., the latter being inordin- 
ately large. He is a large man, slightly stoop- 
shouldered, with a small tendency toward abdominal 
orbicularity. His hair is silken, and complexion fair, 
cheek-bones high, mouth large, brow well developed, 
but not remarkable for its intellectual manifestations. 
The moral and mental lineaments of his features may 
be generally expressed thus: kindness, candor, gen- 
erosity, and good sense. We might be more minute, 
but we never had the pleasure of meeting our broth- 
er from away down East (he is a member of the 
General Conference from Maine) until we met him 



396 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

here. Practically, we pronounce liira a safe, availa- 
blCj and reliable brother, equally free from rashness 
and vacillation. It is the steady dropping that 
wears away the stone. The sudden blow may only 
break, not remove the obstacle. Though like the 
hand of a clock, too slow for its movements to be 
seen, though those movements are just as they should 
be, so Brother Farrington belongs to that class of 
men and ministers who are constantly making the 
world better around them, though the fact is not 
always perceptible. We should deem him not 
especially gifted in the brilliancies of speech, the 
flowers of rhetoric, the discoveries of originality, or 
the profundities of logic, and least of all, the decep- 
tive forms of sophistry. His sermons are sensible and 
practical ; tear-soaked and tear-begetting. He ad- 
dresses himself more to the affections than to the 
intellect ; hence he will make no very striking impres- 
sion favorable to intellectual strength, at first, upon 
an audience of strangers ; but as all love to feel more 
than they love to think, and the latter being no less 
important than the former in the work of reform, 
Brother F. will wear well, and the good seed which 
he sows will generally grow. If he does not turn up 
the subsoil of the heart with a plow of great intellect- 
ual power, he saturates it into mellowness. In his pas- 
toral intercourse he is always a lovable man, and will 
be welcomed by sorrow as a son of consolation, and 



REV WM. F. FARRfNGTON. 3 97 

by misfortune as tlie good Samaritan. If the back- 
slider do not commence to retrace his steps at once, 
when pursued by him, he stops when he finds himself 
pursued, for Brother F. to come up with him. The 
Church will have -peace, if not always prosperity, 
under his spiritual nurture. He, perhaps, is more 
gifted in training young converts than in making 
them. Like light, which falls as noiselessly upon the 
city as into the silent mountain pass, revealing what it 
touches, and beautifying the flower, born to blush 
unseen, so Brother F. seeks to make no noise in order 
to be known, but he is sought for because he is just 
the man to meet one of the Church's necessities. 
Without the advantages of acquiring a ripe educa- 
tion, he, nevertheless, is at home in the common, the 
utilitarian branches, and, we believe, possesses a 
smattering of the dead languages. Consecrated to 
God for the work of the ministry in holy baptism, in 
early infancy, by a pious mother, the offering seems 
always to have been accepted; and its subject, from 
receiving a conscious visitation of God at the early 
age of seven years, while his tiny hands were gather- 
ing the flowers of the wilderness, seems always to 
have been upon the altar. At the age of fifteen, 
conversion and a call to the ministry were expe- 
rienced and understood, and a hesitating vow to com- 
ply with the latter was made to Him, who alone 
calleth men to this honor, for no man taketh it to 



398 GENEKAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

himself unless he is called of God, as was Aaron. 
The call, however, was at first resisted, which, as 
often happens, was followed by a loss of religious 
enjoyment. This was restored when Brother F. sum- 
moned up the resolution to say, "Here I am, Lord, 
send me." In 1829 we see his name as a probationer 
in the Maine Conference, of which conference he 
subsequently became a member, and so continues 
until this day. Of his standing in his conference 
something may be inferred from the following facts. 
During the twenty-seven years of his ministry he has 
had but fourteen charges, thus nearly always being 
returned the second year. He has twice been presid- 
ing elder, and six years stationed in Portland, his 
present field of labor. He has never left a charge 
without leaving some fruit of his labors. Though 
disclaiming all special ability to preach set sermons 
for set occasions, yet his brethren have called upon 
him, during his itinerant career, to consecrate some 
twenty-one of their churches. A diffidence, com- 
pounded of that quality and modesty, constitutes a 
marked trait of his clerical intercourse with his 
brethren. This, however, is not so excessive as to 
enervate his self-reliance. He is a man, therefore, 
who will be in nobody's way, while it will be every 
one's delight to stand out of his, do his merits justice, 
admire him highly, and love him more. Homely as 
ourself, no one seems to lay this to his charge ; in 



REV F. C. HOLLIDAY. 399 

fact, we believe the belief is general that he could 
not help it. Well, notwithstanding this last compli- 
ment we have paid him, we shall not only not fear 
to meet our excellent brother again, but shall do all 
we can to bring so pleasing an event about. But if 
unsuccessful on earth, there is a world where we do 
not expect to be. 



REV. FERNANDO C. HOLLIDAY, A.M., 

OF THE SOUTHEASTERN INDIANA CONFERENCE. 

Among those who are first and latest in their seats, 
during the session of the Conference, may be men- 
tioned Fernando Cortes Ilolliday, the whilom chum 
and classmate of our boyhood, and one of our 
cherished friends. He sits now in an advanced 
position of the semicircles that are arranged in front 
of the speaker's desk, watching the speaker's eye 
with the carefulness of a kingfisher, and seldom fails 
to get the floor in a contest with the oldest parlia- 
mentarian. Albeit, the charge we hear brought 
against some, lies not at his door. He does not deem 
it necessary to make a speech on every subject that 
comes before the body. Indeed, he speaks but 
rarely, and tlien briefly, and generally to the point ; 
a quality tliis, we have always thought, indicative of 



400 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

men of the greatest influence, either in ecclesiastical 
or civil assemblies. A man that is always on his 
feet, becomes a monopolist of the time of his 
brethren, and it will not be surprising if he be 
charged with a less welcome virtue than that of 
rudeness — egotism. 

Physically, Brother Holliday tends to corpulence, 
a little below the medium in stature, and made to 
limp by a most severe affliction of erysipelas about 
sixteen years ago, which terminated in an obstinate 
suppuration of the knee-joint. His lameness, how- 
ever, scarcely stamps him an invalid, and he walks 
with much erectness and rapidity. His etiquettica? 
air is naturally urbane, the law of kindness lights up 
his whole demeanor, and we have seldom met him 
without being greeted with a smile, while he seems to 
enjoy, as much as any one we ever knew, a good, 
hearty, anti-dyspeptic, but not obstreperous laugh. 

Genius, with her saddened hues and deepened 
lines, has not placed her signet upon him. Imagina- 
tion he has none, but he delights in its creative 
potency in others. Fancy has been more liberal to 
him, and the mild, the gentle, the lovely, and the 
placid, often mingle prominently with the furniture 
of his mind. He would gaze in rapture on simple 
beauty, but go to sleep on a sunny day to the music 
of Niagara. He is a sound, though not profound 
logician, and is much oftener right in his conclusions 



REV. F. C. HOLLIDAY. 401 

than those who pass as being much more profound. 
When nature made him, she seems to have said, I 
will try my hand on making one purely sensible 
man. As a preacher, his sermons are always 
eminently marked with a chasteness and great intel- 
ligibility of language, constructed upon some great 
principle, with all the mechanical regularity of a 
Yankee cottage, smiling in snowy whiteness from its 
nestling-place, amid grass and evergreens. Flowers 
are not numerous, if we except — to drop the figure — • 
now and then an exotic in the form of poetry. His 
sermons are evidently well-studied, and to hear him 
from the same text the second time, one would be 
ready to conclude that he is, to a large extent, a 
memoriter preacher. But let no one suppose that 
his sermons are delivered in any sense as a school- 
boy parrots his piece. The fact is, this is the man- 
ner of preparation adapted to the very constitution 
of Brother H.'s mind. Being, therefore, perfectly 
natural, everything appears so to his audience, and 
for years he has stood at the head of his conference, 
as one of its first preachers. For instructiveness, and 
what we will call winningness and lasting impressive- 
ness^ there are but few sermons preached that equal 
Brother Holliday's, take him, as we will say, ujDon 
the average. His early advantages were limited, but 
he had a care to triumph over the rigor of fortune, 
planned his own curriculum of study with such aids 



402 GENERAL CONFEKENCE TAKINGS. 

as he had at hand, pursued a regular course, and 
became self-graduated. Whether he ever had resort 
to the conferring of a degree upon himself, which he 
certainly merited, and which, perhaps, would have 
done just as well, we never inquired, but we do re- 
member that, in 1850, he received the degree of 
A.M. from the M'Kendree College, in Illinois. If 
not extensively accurate in science, as few men thus 
educated are, it is richly atoned for by that extended 
information to which, contradistinguishingly, we may 
give the name of learning. He commenced the 
ministry, as too many have, too early, probably. We 
heard him exhort in his sixteenth year, lie was 
licensed to preach in his seventeenth, and in his 
eighteenth we find him bobbing along on horse- 
back, around one of those extensive circuits that 
were then to be found in Southern and Middle 
Indiana. He has been in the traveling connection 
ever since, being now about forty-one years of age, 
and has filled all the ofiices in his Church, (and also 
many of the stations of the first class.) from class- 
leader to presiding elder, and is now, we believe, for 
the first time, a delegate to the General Conference, 
where every one believes that he fills ^'ell his seat. 
His ministry and administration have always been 
successful and satisfactory to his brethren, by whom 
he is now esteemed for his works' sake. His influ- 
ence has often been more like the brook that mean- 



REV. JOHN HANNAH. 403 

ders noiselessly through the grass-field, watering un- 
told thousands of roots, than the cascade leaping in 
silvery sheen, witli a song of wildness, from the 
mountain side. He is one of those men to whom 
critics must liesitate to give the title of greatness, 
and yet there is so much of the truly great about 
him, that, as a Methodist preacher, he would be be- 
loved and useful in any part of our work, from the 
metropolitan church to the log-cabin on the frontier. 
He writes occasionally, and is not unknown as an 
author. He is the author of the " Life and Times of 
Rev. A. Wiley ;" also, of the Annivei-sary Book for 
the use of Sunday schools, besides several tracts and 
fugitive sermons. 



REV. JOHN HANNAH, D.D., 

DELEGATE FR0J8 THE BRITISH CONFERENCE. 

Yesterday (Sabbath) we went to hear Dr. Hannah 

in the morning, in Wesley Chapel, which was 

crowded at an early hour. The sermon was founded 

on Ephesians i, 13, 14, and might be fittingly enough 

denominated the gifts, offices, and fruits of the 

Holy Spirit. The whole sermon was threaded with 

unity, while the happiest of digi-essions, and most 

appropriate variety, filled up the amplifications. It 

26 



404 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

was a beautiful landscape slumbering in mellow 
sunlight, divided by a mountain ridge, inviting 
rather than precipitous, and sloping on either hand 
into wide and fruitful vales. In the sermon we were 
not disappointed, but in the manner of the preacher 
we were most seriously. He is the victim of a 
chronic mannerism, most probably the result of a 
false education in his youthful days, and which has 
now fixed itself upon him; and while it has thus 
become to him second nature, to everybody else, as it 
seems to us, it must appear very unnatural. He 
reads his hymn in a sing-song tone, so dovetailing 
one word into another that it is difficult to understand 
him. He stands in the pulpit with his left foot 
advanced and a-kimboed, giving one the impression 
that his position is one of pain. His arms are 
tolerably well provided for, as they are both used 
about equally, while the prominent gesture is that of 
extending them as if to embrace you. As he warms 
up in preaching, his voice becomes less unnatural, 
and sometimes, when he seems to get into the region 
of self-unconsciousness, one feels momentarily re- 
lieved. But, notwithstanding these external defects, 
Dr. Hannah is a workman that needeth not to 
be ashamed, a messenger of the everlasting Gospel 
full of holy unction; and to sit under one of his 
sermons, is to inhale a spiritual atmosphere, the 
refreshing and strengthening power of which is of no 



REV. JOHN HANNAH. 405 

transient continuance. Occasionally we broke the 
fixed spell that the speaker exerted over us, and 
glanced over his audience, during the rendering 
of some of his most startling passages. We shall 
never forget the tout ensemhle that met our gaze. 
Every face was upturned, and as still as if petrified, 
while lips quivered and tears coursed down the 
cheeks, reminding one of a flower garden in a spring 
morning trembling in the zephyr's early breath, and 
bespangled with countless drops of dew. May the 
Lord raise up thousands upon thousands of such 
preachers to bless our Israel, both on this and the 
other side of the Atlantic. Dr. Hannah's defect in 
manner alluded to, is but another illustration of 
the fact, that human greatness in this world is always 
in the ore, and never in the unmixed or smelted 
state. This is right. A perfection that would forbid 
further progress would be one of the greatest of 
misfortunes that could befall man. 



406 GENEEAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS 



REV. HIRAM MATTISON, A.M., 

OF THE BLACK RIVER CONFERENCE. 

As yet, our " takings" of men have been few aiid 
meager. Delicate as is this department, one in which 
caution should be the cardinal virtue, or else the pen 
may become a thorn to the heart of friendship, or a 
fountain of disgust; yet to redeem our promise to 
our readers, we have determined to adventure into 
this region, and throw off some charcoal sketches. 
We are tempted to commence at this moment with 
Professor Mattison, a man well known in the Church, 
and whose fame is much more enviable than that of 
notoriety. He sits now directly before us, in total 
ignorance of our intended onslaught upon him, with 
pencil and papers in one hand, (he is never without 
them,) leaning a little forward, and watching with 
intense interest the tide of debate as it flows and 
foams (pardon this frothy figure !) in counter-currents 
along. In person, the professor is slender, lithy, and 
wiry, indicating great activity and powers of endu- 
rance. He is as straight as an Indian, with neck a 
little too attenuated, and which he always seems to 
like to bind up with a challengeless white cravat, ad- 
justed in a style the most om fait. The entire con- 



REV. HIRAM MATTISON. 407 

tour of liis face and head does not indicate genins as 
much as generosity, talent as much as indomitable 
energy : in other words, the moral sentiments, sweet 
and bland in essence, with a little angularity of ex- 
hibition, are more prominent than the intellectual. 
Upon a closer inspection, versatility of intellect be- 
comes a prominent impression. He will succeed in 
whatever he undertakes, and he may safely under- 
take more things than most men. Energy in him is 
much more than a substitute for genius in some. A 
kind of a bloodhound power to hang on, is a talent 
in him, before which Malakofis would crumble. I^Tot 
that he is destitute of either talent or genius, but 
possesses both in a high degree about equally com- 
bined, and compounded with the qualities which we 
have just described. He is one of that numerous 
host of marked men, whose early advantages were 
few. Theology, with the natural sciences as a com- 
mentary, is his favorite study. The Author of nature 
is the Author of the Bible. Mr. M. is author of sev- 
eral highly approved works on philosophy and as- 
tronomy. He also published, if we remember right, 
in 1840, an able little work on the Trinity, which is 
now on our tract list, and has passed through some 
six or seven editions. Like all authors, he feels the 
truth of the sentiment, that of the making of books 
there is no end, and we have somewhere stolen the 
secret that a work has been growing on his hands, for 



408 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

a number of years, on tlie life and immortality of tlie 
soul, and the resurrection of the body. As there is 
about the man, what is true, we believe, of all planets, 
some eccentricities, so the means of his .conversion 
were somewhat peculiar. He was converted through 
the instrumentality of Pollok's Course of Time. We 
hope the poor, consumptive-smitten poet, who actu 
ally has been more read than Milton, though in 
finitely less praised, knows this fact in heaven. Pro 
fessor Mattison is about forty-five years of age, 
though one, in guessing at his age, would be just as 
apt to put the figures at thirty-five. He joined the 
Black River Conference in 1836, of which he is still 
a member, and from which he is an able and reliable 
delegate to this body. His health, we believe, has 
several times failed him, owing, doubtless, to the fact 
of his studious and hard-working habits. In fifty- 
two, both from sanitary considerations and becaus.e he 
was needed, by the authority of Bishop "Waugh he 
was appointed pastor of the famous old John-street 
Church, in l^ew-York. From thence he was called 
to take charge of a new church enterprise "up town," 
where he has remained to this present. By the aid 
of a few energetic and liberal brethren, whose efforts 
have been wisely stimulated by his own enterprise 
and diplomacy, a church, said to equal, in architect- 
ural convenience and befittingness, anything of the 
sort in America, has been erected. Professor Matti- 



REV. ISAAC M. LEIHY. 409 

son is an able preacher, a versatile but generally 
over-pungent writer, sincerely devoted to every inter- 
est of the Church ; a Christian not by profession, but 
experience ; a preacher not professionally, but one 
moved from within rather than without; a fast and 
generous friend, and iirm, tenacious, and successful 
defender of the faith. The Church and the world 
have need of him, and thousands more like him. 



REV. ISAAC M. LEIHY, 

OF THE WISCONSIN CONFERENCE. 

The valueless often glitters upon the surface, and 
obtrudes upon the gaze. Treasures are generally 
hidden, and are to be sought for. The world's best 
men, if not the greatest, compose a majority the least 
known. Unobtrusive modesty is preeminently a promi- 
nent characteristic of the subject of this sketch. He 
has never sought to be known, and the reputation he 
has, is like his shadow, what he could not prevent. 
Goodness, firmness, sound judgment, and force 
of character, being always in demand. Brother Leihy 
is one whom his Conference delighteth to honor ; and 
while he stands in its van, they have wisely com- 
mitted to him the task of representing its interests in 



410 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

the General Conference. Though not one of the 
speaking members of that body, for he speaks but 
seldom, which is to be regretted, yet he exerts 
an influence upon that undercurrent of power which 
does more to control the action of the body than if 
lie made, as some are said to have done, a dozen 
speeches a day. He is medium in stature, firm, 
square, straight, and symmetrically built, sallow in 
countenance, studiously neat in attire, with his 
general features sharpened, indicating taste in 
manners, with a firmness of determination that 
would be quite as apt to lean toward the stubbornness 
of the martyr, as to yield in the day of temptation. 
As the Irishman's farm-house covered the most of his 
domain, so his mouth when opened (tlie editor 
should have a care how he talks of such things) 
covers a very large portion of his face. His eye and 
brow indicate strong sense blended with great 
earnestness. His temperament, though of the san- 
guine bilious, is so ballasted with the phlegmatic, 
that he furnishes an example of coolness and self- 
possession, which many who might justly set up 
higher claims to mental potency, are seldom found to 
exemplify. He would have made a good admiral, 
and scarcely have taken the glass from liis eye in a 
critical moment, even should the leaden messenger 
of destruction carry away a limb. To be cool and 
collected while opponents are inordinately excited is 



REV. ISAAC M. LEIHY. 411 

a vantage-ground which a polemic knows well how 
to appreciate. In argument he is terse, transparent, 
and syllogistic, and rests often even with an over- 
weening confidence in his conclusions. His is not 
an egotistic confidence, but that which a truth-loving 
mind feels when he believes himself planted on that 
everlasting rock. Great earnestness is the promi- 
nent quality of his preaching. This, like a shower 
upon the thirsty land, always imparts to his sermons 
the power to refresh, even where one is not con- 
scious of receiving much additional instruction. But 
his preaching seldom wants this quality — instruction. 
It is generally rich in Methodist theology, not 
delivered in the mere hackneyed terms of the text- 
books and the skeleton form of first, secondly, and 
thirdly, but a principle of truth is announced, and 
then amplified by copious and pertinent quotations 
of Scripture. And as to accuracy ( one of the great 
beauties in preaching) of his Scriptural quotations, 
this is a marked peculiarity in Brother Leihy's 
sermonizing. He is about forty-six years of age, and 
as to education, his early advantages were such as an 
imperfect system of common schools could confer. 
He studied subsequently in Cazenovia Seminary, and 
is not without highly respectable attainments in 
letters. He joined the Rock River Conference in 
1843, and is now a member of the Wisconsin Con- 
ference, and presiding elder on Fond du Lac District. 



412 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

Many of the circTiits and districts on which he has 
traveled in the West, have been emphatically in the 
backwoods, and were he disposed, he could reveal 
many incidents of toil and triumph, of the ludicrous 
and the chivalrous, peculiar to such a rude and 
inceptive state of society. Like most other frontier 
preachers, these memories of pleasure, greatly 
mixed, are, after all, cherished as among the purest 
of our life. Originally a New-Yorker, he is now 
identified with the great and growing West, where 
long may he stand a pillar in the Church of our 
God. 



REV. F. J. JOBSON, A.M., 

DELEGATE FROM THE BRITISH CONFERENCE. 

Bev. Me. Jobson, assistant delegate from the Brit- 
ish Conference, preached to a very large audience in 
Roberts Chapel, on Sunda}^ night. Though we did 
not hear him, and, therefore, cannot delineate his 
manner in the pulpit, nor even announce the gist of 
his sermon, yet we have heard the effort spoken of as 
one of mental magnificence and supreme unction, not 
at all inferior to that of his colleague in the morning, 
while many give preference to his manner. The 
physiqne of Mr. Jobson may be described in general 



REV. F. J. JOBSON. 413 

term3 as tliat of a short, fat, burly, homely man. His 
feet are as short as those of a Chinese, his hands and 
lingers are short, his legs are short, his nose is short, 
his neck and ears are short, the latter looking like 
the half of a plump blue peach stuck flat on to jowls 
as round and plump as a Yankee pumpkin ; his brow 
is short, his eyes are small and piercing, but as good 
foi-tune would have it in view of our favorite theory, 
his mouth is not short, it is not round and puckering, 
it is just such an opening in a man's face as we gen- 
erally find in the orator. He is full of emotion, and 
never seems to be getting up steam, as we Americans 
say, but is always letting it off, and, seemingly, it 
sometimes lifts the heavy valve in spite of himself, 
and momentarily carries him up as in a whirlwind of 
fire. He occasionally startles you with paradoxes, sud- 
denly drops in a most brilliant parenthesis, thrilling his 
audience with surprise, as when an omnibus driver, 
under a sweeping trot, instantly stops his team quite 
near the bottom of a hill. He is emphatically a ty- 
rant of an orator, and determined that his audience 
shall. not control him, but that he will control them, 
and sweet and luxurious was the control which he 
exerted over the hundreds that hung upon his lips on 
Sunday night last. We have called him a homely 
man ; it would, certainly, be very erroneous to call 
him a handsome one, and yet is there a moral beauty 
that comes out upon his short features, like the sun, 



414 GENERAL CONFEREKCE TAKINGS. 

wliich on the other side of the jagged cloud, still 
sends its rays through the ruggedness of nature, at- 
tracting the eve with the commingled hues of the 
vermilion, the violet, and tlie rose-bud. A mind and 
soul on which the beanty of the Lord our God has 
long shone, render attractive, we have often tliought, 
the roughest of tenements. Mr. Jobson is, evidently, 
a man of high mental attainments, and of great re- 
finement of manners. He is, manifestly, less cautious 
and more progressive and outspoken than is his able 
colleague. We should think, withal, that his diges- 
tion has always been good, and in view of the fact 
that English roast beef is the best in the world, that 
had he not possessed great symmetrical force of char- 
acter — had not his mental appetite always been as 
good as his physical, the world would never have 
witnessed so long-headed a man, intellectually, on so 
short and fat a man, physically. And here we must 
pen a thought that struck us as we saw him for the 
first time, when introduced to the Conference, and 
from which almost momentary impression we have 
made up this sketch. The thought was this : How 
must a man feel whose conscience is clear, whose 
honors are more than princely, whose sphere of use- 
fulness might tempt an angel, and who, at the same 
time, should feel almost continuously, as Mr. Jobson 
must feel, the sensations of perfect health. We lifted 
our own skeleton and fevered hand to our brow, and 



REV. F. J. JOBSON. 415 

remembering that we had no recollection of an hour's 
ease from pain during nearly half of our life, we in- 
voluntarily uttered, it never entered into our heart to 
conceive of the felicity which it falls to the lot of 
such a one to enjoy, even out of heaven. But, after 
all, human happiness is mixed; appearances often 
deceive us ; factitious circumstances are vastly over- 
rated ; every heart knows its own grief ; and, as the 
old Egyptians used to say, there is a skeleton in every 
house, whether it be the palace of the monarch, or 
the hovel of the mendicant. The differences in the 
various allotments of life, though undoubtedly wide 
and real, yet, as its regards the well-spring of joy 
which bubbles up in every heart, the refreshment it 
imparts to its possessor, as it respects its degree, ca- 
pacity considered, are vastly over-estimated. And 
as to the true source of joy, like the ocean to all 
streams, God alone can supply this to the soul. 
These are reflections that should reconcile man to his 
lot. Temporal and external inequalities need not 
render our privileges to drink to our fill unequal. 
And O, blessed Saviour ! when thou art near, even 
pain is sweet, toil is rest, and death but a call into 
the regions of life, where neither pain, toil, nor death 
can distract, waste, or alarm. 

Mr. Jobson, in his address before the British "Wes- 
leyan Conference, after his return home, gave, among 
other matters of interest, an account of his preaching 



416 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

in the Sharpe-street Colored Methodist Church, Bal- 
timore. We subjoin his description of the occasion: 
"The church was crowded in all parts, and many went 
away, unable to gain admission. There were pews 
and sittings, but these were not made of much ac- 
count — the people seemed literally jammed together. 
And O ! the sight of those black beaming faces, those 
thousands of upturned negro imploring eyes ; for, as 
my brethren, the returned missionaries, will bear wit- 
ness, there is a peculiar devotional look in the eye oi 
a worshiping negro that cannot be described. When 
I looked upon them I fully realized the meaning of 
old Thomas Fuller's saying concerning the dark-col- 
ored race, ' God's children carved in ebony.' Their 
singing was most fervent and harmonious; such as 
belong only to African voices — and their prayers 
were devout and earnest. I preached to them on the 
freeness and fullness of Gospel salvation, sounding 
forth to them the good news of the great Gospel sup- 
per provided for the poor, the maimed, the halt, the 
blind, and for the unsheltered outcasts of men in the 
highways and hedges of human society. And if I 
must speak of myself, as I am forced to do in this 
case, then I would say, I preached with all my heart 
and life, and till nature was wrung to its very withers 
with intensity of feeling. The scene, as it spread 
itself before me, was, in a mere picturesque aspect, 
most exciting and inspiring. There were some hun- 



REV. F. J. JOBSOX. 417 

dreds of slaves there, and many who were free. 
Some of the freemen wore clothed in superfine broad 
black cloth, and with an excess of white collar and 
wristband. Within the communion rails sat some 
twenty black, woolly-headed local preachers and 
deacons, well-dressed, and white neckerchiefs of the 
old Methodist form. Some of the females had on the 
African turban, in colors of red, blue, and yellow; 
others, of the free class, had on the European bonnet, 
and were clothed in rich white muslins and silks. 
But beyond the general aspect of the congregation, 
the presence and power of God were there, and the 
effects were most striking. For a time the people 
kept silent, except that now and then arose in difi'er- 
ent parts of the church an exclamation, such as, 
* Blessed be de name of Jesus !' ' Halleluiah to de 
Lamb !' and their black faces beamed and shone 
again with religious rapture. At length they began 
to move and heave like waves of the sea. Then 
the floods lifted up their voice and clapped their 
hands ; then their mouth was filled with laughter and 
their tongue with singing; and at length, clearing 
spaces around them, they literally leaped up from 
the ground as high as this platform table, and danced 
for joy. But in all this, there was nothing irreverent 
or un devout, and nothing to confuse or confound the 
preacher. They made two collections in that service, 
for our colored brethren have no idea of appearing 



418 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

before the Lord empty ; and, after the second collec- 
tion, we tried to dismiss the congregation, but they 
would not depart. They would still sing and praise 
God. And I, too, had difficulty in getting out of the 
church. Black hands were thrust forth. to me in all 
directions, accompanied with expressions such as, 
•^ Bless you, English massa! and bless the great 
Massa in heben for the word which you bring!' It 
was, indeed, a memorable service, my most memor- 
able service in the work of Christ, such as verbal 
description can never make known." 



REV. ¥. L. HARRIS, D.D., 

SECRETARY OF THE LAST GENERAL CONFERENCE. 

Press on ! for it is God-like to unloose 
The spirit, and forget yourself in thought ; 
Bending a pinion for the deeper sky, 
And, in the very fetters of your flesh, 
Mating with the pure essences of heaven ! 
Press on ! " for in the grave there is no work, 
And no device." Press on, while yet you may. 

The subject of this sketch is Secretary of the Gen- 
eral Conference ; an office of great labor, delicacy, 
and responsibility. A good secretary must have the 
pen of a ready writer, be a Kegulus in integrity, and 
possess the politeness of a Chesterfield without its ridic- 



REV. W. L. HARRIS. 419 

ulousness and hypocrisy. The promotion of Brother 
H. to this office was not a little flattering, in view of 
the very high standing of his opponents. He was a 
yonng man, and nntried. The satisfoction which he 
gave to the last was nniversal. He writes rapidly, 
reads readily, and loud enongh for all to hear him. 
The last named, in our estimation, is a merit second 
to none. He seldon;i makes mistakes, gets things tan- 
gled, or takes them by the wrong handle ; but when 
he does, he repairs \\\q faux x><^s so ingeniously and 
ingenuously, that the blunder becomes a thing of 
merriment. At this writing, he has completed his 
secretarial duties by completing the editorship of the 
Journal of the General Conference, which has just 
been issued from the press of Carlton & Porter. It is 
every way one of the most complete documents of the 
kind with which the Church has ever been favored. 

Commencing life with an object, the indefatigable 
and single pursuit of that object, though the skies rain 
down opposition, constitutes the generics of Professor 
Harris's economic character. A generosity which is 
superabundant, impulses too strong for safety without 
great watchfulness, the ardent love of friends, with a 
disposition to forget enemies just a little stronger than 
his disposition to forgive them, constitute the cardinal 
points of his social character. As a Christian, his 
creed is settled, and he troubles no one with visionary 
speculations, nor weakens the force of his piety by 
27 



420 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

vacillation. It would be a solecism to make Jeremiah 
the religious type of his character, as it regards its 
spirit. He will laugh through life, and be constitu- 
tionally an exemplification of the poet's line, 

" Smile above a burning world." 

We would not intimate by this, that he keeps no 
mantle of dignity among the provisions of his moral 
wardrobe. It is probable, however, the one he has 
will wear a long time. He has almost inexhaustible 
powers of endurance, which, when flagging, he feels 
to be speedily restored by what the writer of these 
lines never felt in the same v/ay, a blessing not even 
denied the sober Young among graves, that " balmy 
sleep" is really a "svv^eet restorer." His health is 
perfect. He is neither lank nor obese. To this, his 
facial developments are somewhat of an exception. 
He is, emphatically, round-faced. If it were not for 
those huge appendages, of which we have no right to 
complain, the nose and the mouth, his face reminds 
one of a half of a v/ell and evenly developed autumn 
apple, flattened, as astronomei's say of the earth, a 
little at the poles. He is good-looking, because his 
soul shines through him, and for no other reason. 

As a preacher, he is a little too logical ; a little 
wanting in the popular element of perspicuit}^, fringed 
by those beauties of rhetoric, like the rose and violet 
on tlie summer cloud, which come not out of the cloud, 



REV. W. L. HARRIS. 421 

but drop down upon it, because it couldn't help it. 
The cloud is fitting in its nature to reflect these beau- 
ties, but seeks not to do it. A figure this which we 
hope illustrates the true relation of the preacher to 
ornament in preaching. Professor Harris, however, 
sets his logic on fire ; and though he occasionally 
give to the people that ask bread, a stone, it is a hot 
one, and heat is as necessary to life as bread. But 
this fault is fast becoming the exception, rather than 
the rule, in his pulpit performances. Hot bread, 
rather than hot stones, is fast becoming the staple 
commodity. We pause here, as we never heard him 
preach, but we know by a species of clairvoyance 
just how he does it. We will only further remark, 
that he occasionally startles his audience by his rapid 
and emphatic utterances, like a certain engineer we 
wot of, who puts the train at a speed of forty miles 
an hour, if danger threatens. 

Professor Harris now fills the chair of Chemistry 
and Natural History in the "Wesleyan University at 
Delaware, Ohio. In the meantime, he has instructed 
the classes in the Hebrew language and literature. 
He is a successful example of a self-made man. 
Neither fortune nor fair science smiled upon his 
humble birth ; but despite the rigors of the one, he 
has successfully wooed the most lovely of the other. 
The first we can hear of him as being at school, was 
a six months' term which he spent at Norwalk Sem- 



422 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

inary, then under the principalship of Rev. J. E. Chap- 
lin, of precious memory, and ^vhose dust now sleeps 
in one of the most beautiful prairies of Michigan: 
White Pigeon. During this time, like Lacon, though 
without his diamonds, he was often compelled, if not 
literally, metaphorically, to dine upon a herring, and 
make his breakfast by meditating upon the future 
meal, and his supper by reflecting upon the past. His 
education has been mostly obtained in the active dis- 
charge of a pastor's duties. He has been nineteen 
years a licensed preacher, ten years of which he has 
spent in the itinerancy, and nine in connection with 
literary institutions. He was three years principal 
of Baldwin Institute, near Cleveland, Ohio ; and for 
six years he has been connected with the Ohio Wes- 
leyan University. He was converted in 1834:, and in 
1837 received into the Michigan Conference, which 
then included Northern Ohio. He is, as the books 
of Samuel and the Chronicles so often say, " about 
forty years of age," and has made a noble beginning 
in his career of usefulness. May he live forty more, 
and the fruits of his labors, like the prophetic handful 
of corn upon the top of the mountains, " shake like 
Lebanon." 



EEV. EOBINSON SCOTT. 423 



REV. ROBINSON SCOTT, 

OF THE IRISH DEPUTATION. 

Yesterday was tlie Sabbath, and, naturally, it was 
a day of peculiar loveliness, even for this latitude, 
where they boast of their May sunshine, vernal 
bloom, and balmy air. 

Such air had been a stranger to our lungs for years, 
and as we inhaled it, our long-diseased pulsations 
seemed to yield as captives, and promised hereafter 
better behavior. We worshiped in Roberts Chapel, 
and heard Eev. Mr. Scott, of the Irish deputation. 
As the house was crowded at an early hour, and we 
failed to arrive early, and as the science of ventila- 
tion is about as far behind the times down here as 
we have generally found it everywhere else, we 
could do no better than take a bacl>: seat near the 
door, and obtain a little oxygen by turning our head 
in that direction at every third breath. We heard 
Mr. Scott, therefore, as many have pursued knowl- 
edge, " under difficulties." As to the man physically, 
he is a "tall six-footer;" his temperament, though 
apparently originally designed by nature, as would 
seem indicated by the contour of his physique, to be 
of the sanguine bilious, is of the nervous phlegmatic; 



424 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS- 

little fire, no flights of fancy, no comet birthlings of 
imagination are to be found there, said we, at the 
first sight. His brow is lofty and amply projecting, 
eyes smiken, but tame, cheek-bones high, mouth 
large, but too straight, neck a little disproportion- 
ately small, and his whole bust that which would 
make the eye of a general flash, were he dressed in 
martial attire and deploying on the field. Sound 
sense, and sound and useful, though not profound 
and original, thought, with undoubtedly a good 
education, constitute the staple of his mental wealth. 
As a preacher, he is simple and self-forgetting, 
expositorial without being critical, instructive, but 
not forcible. Every one must be struck with his 
candor, and can but be impressed with the wakeful- 
ness and unction of his pious emotions. His sermon 
abounded with anecdotes and happy illustrations, and 
every one came away feeling that he had heard 
many good things, if not new things, spoken in the 
true spirit of goodness by a truly good and useful, if 
not great man. Mr. Scott, in the discharge of the 
duties of his mission, will probably visit our brethren 
somewhat extensively in the West. 



REV. EDWARD THOMSON. 426 



REV. EDWARD THOMSON, D.D., LL.D., 

PRESIDENT OF OHIO WESLEYAN UNIVERSITY. 

" A leading captain of his time, 
Rich in saving common sense, 
And, as the greatest only are, 
In his simplicity, sublime." 

When a name ascends beyond common fame and 
becomes distinguished, nothing is more natural than 
a desire to know something of the nativity, early his- 
tory, individualisms, or personal characteristics of its 
possessor. This curiosity is much heightened where 
special pleasm-e has been conferred by reading or 
hearing the products of the pen or tongue of the con- 
genial, though abler spirit. We believe this to be 
especially true of the subject of this sketch, the Presi- 
dent of the Ohio Wesleyan University. Owing to a 
modesty which has always shrunk from publicity, 
though never from responsibility, as naturally as does 
the violet bow its head -to conceal its beauties, little 
is generally known of Dr. Thomson, only that which 
could but be known, his public character in the serv- 
ice of the Church and the world. In person, the 
doctor is a Zaccheus, and when one reflects upon the 
continuous tax which he lays upon his brain, the 
continued creation of new and beautiful thoughts 



426 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

which rise up in his mind like beautiful worlds bom 
out of chaos, and surveys his frail and slender frame, 
he will be induced to tremble for the consequences, 
to wonder why the sword does not cut through the 
flimsy scabbard. And yet, we believe, the doctor is 
generally blessed with good health, owing, probably, 
to a studious abstemiousness, and, still more, owing 
to moral causes. He possesses great equanimity of 
temperament. The passions that so often blow a 
hurricane in the breast of talent and genius, have 
never blown very hard in his. Advantaged with 
favorable idiosyncrasies of constitution, they seem to 
have been taught submission in very ear]y life, and 
it is too late now for them ever to assume the control. 
The doctor's j)atience is positively profound. O, di- 
vine patience, thou panacea for so many of the ills of 
life ! His benevolence is exuberant, though discrimi- 
nating; his philanthropy broad as the race; his 
friendship a gi'ateful balm, the odors of which in- 
crease with time ; his spirit of resentment, dignified 
and forbearing ; of forgiveness, sweet and Saviour- 
like. A happier moral and intellectual symmetry 
is seldom to be met with. As we have intimated, 
there is nothing remarkably impressive in the phys- 
ique of the president. Phrenology fingering his 
cranium in the dark, would be very apt to do what 
it often does, make a sad revelation of its falsity, ere 
dulity, and folly. ISTot that he is wanting in a highly 



REV. EDWARD THOMSON. 42T 

intellectual phiz, in a well-developed brow, but all 
his features in repose are so lit up by a spirit of mild 
kindness and sweet and active affection, that one 
would never dream of the giant intellect which they 
adorn. 

As a scholar, there is an unpretending ripeness in 
his attainments. He makes no show of them, and 
yet, they so show themselves just where they are 
needed, as to impart to the mind the highest degree 
of pleasure. His general reading is extensive, and 
the matter thereof so classified, as it would seem, by 
a system of mnemotechny, as to make him at home at 
will in any age of the world, or among any of its na- 
tions. Great versatility of knowledge will impress 
any one on hearing him deliver one of his elaborated 
discourses. And yet, this knowledge is made to 
flow like a perennial jet from the mountain's breast, 
suggesting to one the presence of an unseen and ex- 
haustless reservoir behind. As a belles-lettres schol- 
ar, he stands, perhaps, first in our connection. In 
some of his communications to the Ladies' Keposi- 
tory, and in some of the paragraphs in late volumes 
of his published works, there are literary beauties 
which a Bryant, an Irving, or a Montgomery would, 
and may have paused to admire. Beneath this sky 
of serenest blue, and silvery and rosette clouds, lin- 
gering in repose, and only changing from beauty to 
beauty, there is a stern world of principle. The 



428 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

doctor is no declaimer, either with the pen, or as a 
preacher. He quarries primitive truths from the 
deeply-excavated mine, and taking hold of a great 
principle, he hastens to reduce it to the concrete to 
make it practically useful, while, by its own intrinsic 
merits, it impresses the mind of the reader or hearer 
with all the authority of demonstration. Indeed, the 
doctor's logic mostly consists of a straightforward 
statement of the truth in the case. 

As a preacher, his principal intellectual character- 
istics consist of basing a proposition, or propositions, 
upon a text of Scripture, expounded in the exordium, 
when he proceeds to illustrate and apply the princi- 
ples of those propositions. So far as popular effect 
is concerned, illustration and anecdote seem the 
doctor's peculiar forte, ^and, like Apollo's quiver, his 
treasury of these seems exhaustless. Illustrations are 
readily drawn from the simplest and sublimest 
sources ; from the bud, the busy bee, or toiling ant, 
up to the great globe on its obedient march. In 
supplying these resources, nothing seems to have 
escaped him. In all his miscellaneous and other 
reading, from the village newspaper to the tome 
musty with centuries, he seems to have his mental 
eye fixed upon the use to which he can apply every 
fact or incident with which he meets, and thus, as a 
student, he is always preparing for public exhibition 
and usefulness. This mode of studying in the closet 



REV. EDWARD THOMSON. 429 

witli his heart in the lecture-room, or pulpit, keeps it 
ever wakeful to the great mission of life, and 
hence it is, that a moral characteristic of the doctor 
as a preacher, lecturer, or platform speaker, is that 
of continued earnestness. There is a spirit of 
genuine honest conviction and mellow earnestness in 
the doctor's public ministrations, which compels the 
hearer to admit at once, that he believes and feels 
what he would have others believe and feel. We 
need not say, that such a speaker will always have 
plenty of hearers, and satisfied ones. Superadded 
to the fact just named, we name another subsidiary 
to it. It is the doctor's great simplicity. By simpli- 
city 3^ou are not to understand superficiality, or the 
mere chaste and dignified delivery of trite truths, 
which has often been made to pass for simplicity 
in the pulpit, when, in fact, it is the mere platitude 
of scholarship, and the essence of learned dullness, 
though the speaker may seem to take fire over 
burning oil, which he has never beaten out for the 
sanctuary. The doctor's simplicity consists in making 
every one perfectly understand him, so that spurious 
critics will never be found measuring his depth by 
his darkness. He is not found dealing in words 
of thundering sound and learned length, but is 
peculiarly and chastely colloquial, interesting his 
hearers as if they were actually in conversation with 
him, and expected to take a part. We have some- 



480 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

what against the doctor, however, as a preacher. 
"While he is wanting neither in matter nor manner, we 
think we have often heard him make a point, where 
a little additional intensification wonld seemingly 
have rendered the efi'ect irresistible. He seems at 
times to check his thunder mid volley, when one 
pants to see its whole force expended npon the 
audience. We know not but what just here the 
doctor's exquisite taste chills the fire of his oratory. 

The doctor is an Englishman, of highly respectable 
parentage, and was born at Portsea, in 1810, making 
him as yet but in the prime and vigor of life. His 
mother was a member of the Established Church, 
and his father a Dissenter, but both, subsequently, 
became communicants in the Baptist Church. In 
1818, they emigrated, with young Edward, to 
America, by way of Havre de Grace, France, 
arriving in New-York after a protracted and most 
perilous voyage, in the good ship Alexandria, having 
been overhauled by pirates in its course. A princi- 
pal object of the emigration was to improve the 
fortunes of the family, impaired by the too great 
generosity of its head. An aspiration after that 
higher civil Hberty and purer form of Protestantism, 
had much to do, also, in determining the choice 
between the two shores. The emigrants, however, as 
often happens, were ill prepared to take advantage 
of those circumstances in the l^ew World so favorable 



REV. EDWARD THOMSON. 431 

to the acquisition of wealth. After spending much 
time in prospecting, first in New-York, then in 
Philadelphia, and again in Pittsburgh, the father 
of Dr. Thomson finally settled with his family 
in Wooster, Ohio, in the spring of 1819. Here Mr. 
Thomson fitted up a comfortable house, entered a 
living, if not lucrative business, and spent the rest 
of his life in tranquillity and devotion, deriving his 
chief pleasure from his study, garden, and family. 
The father of the subject of this sketch was remark- 
able for the agreeableness of his manners, exuberant 
kindness, and retiring and unambitious habits. He 
possessed a fine taste, a large acquaintance with 
books, a grateful heart, and a cheerful and social 
disposition. He died in the hope of the Gospel, 
in the fall of 1844, leaving a widow now living in 
Illinois, and a large family, the members of which 
are scattered in difi'erent parts of the continent. 
Under parental auspices, the subject of this sketch 
received a good common-school and academical 
education, and would have received a collegiate 
training, had there been a college accessible to him 
in his Western home. 

At an early age he commenced the study of medi- 
cine, which he completed after attending his fii'st 
course of lectures at Philadelphia, and his second at 
Cincinnati, receiving the degree of M.D. with eclat. 
"While yet a youth, he was distinguished by his fond- 



432 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

ness for reading and solitude, and early became a 
subject of converting grace. Failing, however, to 
make the reception of this latter blessing known, he 
measurably lost his spirituality. Reasoning himself 
into fatalism from the Calvinistic creed, which he 
was early taught, and meeting with some skeptical 
books while a medical student, he became quite 
skeptical. He always, however, treated religion and 
its advocates with courtesy, and never wandered 
from the paths of morality. He was brought again 
to the themes of grace by repeated attacks of severe 
illness, while the prayerful reading of the Epistle of 
St. James fully corrected his theological views. The 
grace of God was reapplied to his heart, and the 
Spirit that called him to repentance, called him also 
to preach the Gospel. Abandoning his profession, 
he entered the Ohio Conference, and was appoint- 
ed successively to E'orv/alk, Sandusky, Cincinnati, 
"Wooster, and Detroit. He was then appointed prin- 
cipal of ^N^orwalk Seminary, a post which he occu- 
pied for six years. During this time he declined a 
professorship in Transylvania University, Kentucky, 
and accepted the chair of philosophy of the human 
mind, in the University of Michigan. He, however, 
never entered upon his duties there, as at the time 
he expected to do so he was elected editor of the 
Ladies' Repository. He has been nominally Presi- 
dent of the Ohio Wesleyan University ever since it 



REV. EDWARD THOMSON. 488 

was organized, although he has acted as president 
but for the eleven years last past. He did not desire 
to leave the editorship of the Eepository for his pres- 
ent post, and was only induced to do so by the urgent 
request of the Ohio and JS'orth Ohio Conferences, the 
patrons of the university. He has filled every grade 
of office except that of bishop, filling at times two or 
three at the same time, and has been a member of 
every General Conference, we believe, since 1840. 
Besides writing largely for the periodical press, on 
subjects political, religious, and scientific, he has al- 
ways been a close student, pursuing a regular course 
marked out for himself. Since taking charge of the 
university, over which he presides with an accepta- 
bility that will not listen to a suggestion for a substi- 
tute, he has given close attention to the classics as 
well as theology. His health undoubtedly has been 
not a little impaired by too close application. He 
belongs to the progressive school, ecclesiastically and 
politically ; is an ardent advocate for the Maine-law 
reform, general education, and universal emancipa-' 
tion. For tliese reforms he has always been ready to 
lift his voice, though to do so was to encounter oppo- 
sition and opprobrium. Is'aturally timid and averse 
to strife, his agency is not always the most ostensible, 
even when it is the most eifectual ; he sets others in 
motion when he seems not to move himself. Desir- 
ous of preserving what is valuable in existing institu- 



434 GENERAL CONFEKENCE TAKINGS. 

tions, and disposed to take favorable views of things, 
his progressive movements are regulated witii moder- 
ation, and his denunciations attempered with charity. 
His anti-slavery speech before the last General Con- 
ference will not soon.be forgotten, while the strong- 
hold which it had upon the respect of the body, was 
indicated in the s]3eech of Rev. J. A. Collins, of Bal- 
timore, who, in alluding to some complimentary allu- 
sions made to himself by Dr. Thomson, declared that 
he regarded a compliment from that source as confer- 
ring upon him one of the proudest hours of his exist- 
ence. The doctor has been talked of for bishop, and 
would make an excellent one. Ephemeral-lived as 
the writer of this sketch seems doomed to be, we 
shall never live to see him installed into that sublime 
office. But two hundred of our brethren here pres- 
ent may, and we hope will, live to witness that 
event. At this moment the doctor, with that peculiar 
sparkle of his eye, and slight pucker of his classical 
mouth, which indicates some sudden solicitude, is 
just rising to leave the conference room, in company 
with some friend, and we will leave it and him too. 



REV. DANIEL WISE. 436 



REV. DANIEL WISE, D.D. 

This brother, tlie versatile and popular editor of 
Zion^s Herald and Journal^ is also here as a 
delegate. He is a man of medium size, a wiry, 
litlie, and agile build. His features tend to sharp- 
ness, but have gone none too far in that direction. 
Amiableness and sweetness of temper, with great 
urbanity of manners, are the language of his phiz. 
Let no one presume, however, too long upon his 
forbearance, when truth and Methodism are made 
the oT)ject of attack. Though gentle as a lamb, he 
is as bold as a lion. And though his writings in 
general are smooth as oil, yet, when the occasion 
demands, he can apply as many vials of sulphuric 
acid to spurious coin as any writer in the Church. 
He can, also, write more (he has our fault, and 
writes too much) than most writers that we ever 
knew. But in writing for different classes of per- 
sons, he excels. He can ^mte for the philosopher, 
the peasant, and the little child. As a writer for 
children, perhaps, he is rarely equaled in our 
country. He will, doubtless, return to his post, 
unless called upon to fill one equally responsible, 
and for which his brethren may deem him as possess- 
ing special qualifications. 

28 



436 GENERAL CONFEKENCE TAKINGS.' 



REV. RESIN SAPP, 

OF THE MICHIGAN CONFERENCE. 

" Whate'er I may have been doth rest between 
Heaven and myself — ^I shall not choose a mortal 
To be my mediator." 

This brother answers to the usual height of men. 
stands almost perfectly straight, is not slender, and 
yet is there no tendency to corpulence. His san- 
guine-bilious temperament will ever prevent the 
latter, while it is not sufficiently ardent to make him 
lean like Cassius. His skin is of a sallow hue, his 
hair is dark, and his eyes (we would just say, that 
we always forget the color of menus ©J^s) are re- 
markable for their active and somewhat piercing, 
and by no means disagreeable roll in their sockets, 
when he is animated. His mouth is large, but a 
little too straight for fluency. His nose is decidedly 
conservative — constructed upon an old-fashioned 
model. It is neither too large nor too small, does 
not turn up at the nasal apex, nor down, nor is it 
aquiline. It is emphatically a commonplace nose, 
and so distinguished for nothing remarkable, that 
few persons would think of noticing it. But as the 
eye ascends up its straight ridge you soon approach 



REV. RESIN SAPP. 437 

a territory, the conformation of which would delight 
a Lavater. Tlie brow of Brother S. is decidedly 
intellectual, though, as a whole, it is a little wanting 
in symmetry. Talent, but not imagination, the 
actual, and not the ideal, are indicated. The subject 
of this sketch is never less at home than when he 
attempts to deal in the abstract, the metaphysical, or 
the descriptive, and yet he is emphatically at home 
among first principles, and can no more construct a 
sermon or an argument without thus basing it, than 
can a mariner pursue his voyage without the point- 
ings of the compass. These first principles, however, 
are studied by him in the concrete rather than in the 
abstract. He judges of causes from their effects, 
rather than of effects from causes. This makes him 
eminently a practical thinker; one of the men who 
never build castles in the air. This trait will strike 
any one in a very few minutes' conversation with 
him. In conversation he excels. This rich and 
ready attribute of the thinking circle is possessed by 
him to an enviable degree ; but the form which his 
conversation generally assumes amounts to this : he 
is attempting to prove some fact, by bringing forth 
an array of corroborating facts. This trait of our 
brother's mind makes him less at home in mere 
theory, and as facts are stubborn things, and make 
the positive man. Brother S., in mere matters of 
theory and speculation, is apt, as is thought by some 



438 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

of his friends, to be too positive at times. His defer- 
ence for authority is, certainly, not excessive ; hence 
has he, occasionally, incurred the title of ultraist ; a 
title, by the way, of very indefinite application, and 
often meaning no more than this : the man does not 
agree with me in opinion, and, therefore, must be 
wrong. There is a sense, however, in which the title 
but confers honor. It is when, in the process of the 
advancement of society, reformers are found making 
a new application of old and immutable principles to 
society's long-tolerated vices. In this sense. Brother 
S. is emphatically an " ultraist." 

As a preacher. Brother S. rises considerably above 
the usual compliment, "he is a good preacher." 
And yet he is difficult to classify; in fact, he is some- 
what sui generis. His sermons contrast very greatly 
at different times, and at times may be pronounced 
able. But he seldom meets in the pulpit that expect- 
ation which his conversation will raise out of it. We 
attribute much of this to a bad manner of delivery, 
into which he seems to have fallen in early life, and 
to have neglected the correction of (a sadly-solemn 
common fault) in later years. A good manner will 
always aid one to get out good matter. ISTo man can 
do justice to his mind, as a public speaker, whose 
manner is decidedly defective. But, with these facts 
before us. Brother Sapp may be classed, averaging 
his pulpit performances, as first among that large 



REV. RESIN SAPP. 439 

class of preachers in tlie N'orthwest, which constitute 
the hope of the Church ; while, as a pastor, he is 
always popular and beloved by his people, and rarely 
preaches in a church that presents a beggarly show 
of empty benches. When we have known him on 
stations, his congregations and influence have gen- 
erally increased to the last. As a friend he is gen- 
erous and frank, not fastidiously fearful of giving 
offense, nor over sensitive in receiving it. He is about 
forty years of age, and has been seventeen years in 
the itinerancy, all of which have been spent in the 
Michigan Conference. He availed himself of some 
early advantages, and having subsequently been a 
most earnest and indefatigable student, he may justly 
lay claim to liighly-respectable scholastic attainments. 
At the age of twenty he was a student of law in 
Ohio, but, having been converted, and obtained 
help from God, he at once felt it his duty to lay 
down Blackstone for the Bible, to exchange Chitty 
for the Methodist Discipline, and enter the itinerant 
ranks. His conference has twice intrusted him with 
the responsibilties of a delegate to the General Con- 
ference, and in both cases he has acquitted himself 
with marked acceptability. At the moment we are 
sketching him, he has arisen in his seat, on the w^est 
side of the assembly-room, with a small slip of paper 
in his hand, on which, even at this distance, we can 
detect his unique chirography, the letters of which 



440 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

lean back when they ought to lean forward, while, 
with a pencil in the other hand, in which he is 
incessantly tapping his notes, he proceeds to ask 
Brother Slicer, of Baltimore, who has the floor, a trio 
of questions, which, as it respects the position taken 
by that old and ingenious polemic, rather leave him 
hors de combat. Brother Slicer, however, sets all 
aside by one of his ingenious sallies of wit, and 
passes on. Brother Sapp sits down, and feels, as dc 
his friends, that the argument implied in his interro- 
gations still stands. 



REV. LTJKE HITCHCOCK, 

OF THE ROCK RIVER CONFERENCE. 

RocHEFoticAFLT ouce Said, " Of all objects of 
thought, one of the most pleasant is to meditate 
upon a true man." Inspiration says, "Mark the 
perfect man, and behold the upright." With the 
subject of this sketch, personally, our acquaintance, 
to the diminution of our pleasure, has been very 
brief. We must sketch him running; in other words, 
say what we have to say of him, from that "grand 
total" which is the sum of what we have always 
heard of him. We shall not, however, chalk in the 



REV. LUKE HITCHCOCK. 441 

dark. What we say, we feel and know to be true. 
In person, he is slender ; and constitutionally, some- 
what frail. The color of his skin would indicate 
some severe but successful battles with inceptive 
chronic disease. His health, though perfect now, 
seems not always to have been a boon which he has 
enjoyed. It is new and morning-like, rather than 
the noon of vigor. With due attention to the laws 
of hygiene, lessons in which, probably, he has been 
prompted to take by necessity, he may live to old 
age, and be among the Church's most active workers. 
From disposition, while health permitted, he could 
not do otherwise. His phiz does not do justice to 
his mind. He is, evidently, a good-looking man, and 
does not impress you with any marked mental char- 
acteristic, unless it be that of great modesty. He is 
one of the few men who seem sufficiently always to 
feel the force of the apostolic injunction, " In honor 
preferring one anothei'." We should think that dif- 
fidence had been the only ghost that ever haunted 
him, and that the people have often lost a good ser- 
mon, because he has been afraid of some brother in 
the audience, whose efforts would compare with his 
to his own great disadvantage. His modesty, how- 
ever, nevef shakes his firmness. When he is sure lie 
is right, he goes ahead. Amiability, the handmaid 
of modesty, constitutes his prominent social quality. 
To see him and converse with liim, is to wish to do 



442 GENEKAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

SO again, and if good manners consist in the art of 
pleasing, he is, emphatically, an agreeable gentleman. 
As a Church officer he excels in the financial and ad- 
ministrative. As a presiding elder, he magnifies his 
office, and were the office always magnified with 
such men, we should hear much fewer calls for its 
abolishment or modification. As a financier, he is 
said to stand first in his conference, and to have de- 
monstrated his claims in some trying positions and 
agencies in which he has been placed. As a preach- 
er, added to a good academic education, received in 
one of our most popular institutions, he gives evi- 
dence of an acute understanding of the theology of 
Methodism. Sound sense, great but chaste plainness, 
with a spirit which seems to be perfectly self-forget- 
ting, are the chief characteristics of his sermons. His 
only object seems to be to do the people good, rather 
rhan make them think that he is preaching a great 
sermon. Take him for all in all, he is a preacher 
that everybody will always love to hear, and may 
always liear to profit. He is about forty-three years 
of age, and has been twenty-two years in the minis- 
try. He belonged originally to the Oneida Confer- 
ence, the members of which, many of whom are here 
on the conference floor, highly prize his character 
and greet liim with the warmest cordiality. He 
came to Illinois, health-seeking, in 1839. He imme- 
diately entered upon the duties of the ministry, and 



REV. LUKE HITCHCOCK. 443 

finding the climate to agree with him, he has re- 
mained in that state of magnificent prairies and pure 
air ever since. He has filled the most prominent ap- 
pointments of his conference, and his present field of 
labor is Mount Morris District. He stands in the van 
with his brethren, and leads deservedly his delega- 
tion at this General Conference, which is the second 
time his brethren have honored him with that high 
office. He sits directly before us at this moment, 
with his hair " tinged a little with the iron gray," 
leaning forward upon his left hand, and giving, as is 
his wont when a little excited, a nondescript, nervous 
snap of his eyes. Some inquiry, eminently practica- 
ble, and involving the interests of the Church, more 
dear to him than all other interests, is evidently 
being revolved in his mind. I fancy that Mr. 
Thought, whose given name is utilitarian, has just 
approached his judgment with the inquiry : Sir, it is 
not exactly what we ought to do, but what can we 
do for the best under the present circumstances ? 



444 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 



REV. W. P. STRICKLAND, D.D., 

REPORTER. 



ui 



Tis not in mortals to command success ; 
But we'll do more, Sempronius, we'll deserve it." 

De. Steicexand was not a member of the General 
Conference, but served that body as reporter for the 
Daily Western Christian Advocate. Services in this 
department have been rendered to a greater or less 
extent by him, on public occasions, for the last twenty 
years. He has become an adept in the art, and is 
always in demand when any of this sort of hard work 
is to be done, and well done. His services at the 
late General Conference w^ere of the first moment, 
gave general satisfaction, and we hope were well 
rewarded by something more than the mere custom- 
ary vote of thanks. The arduous task that he per- 
formed was not, perhaps, at all times, duly apprecia- 
ted by the uninitiated. But for over a month. Brother 
Strickland toiled incessantly for the Chui'ch, from 
fifteen to eighteen hours a day. IsTor did he once 
complain of weariness. In fact, though not a plodder 
as a literary man, but rather inclined to work by 
spasms, and as occasions demand, yet is there in our 



REV. W. P. STRICKLAND. 445 

friend Strickland a jpenchant for hard work, and 
where anything of that sort is to be done, which falls 
within the purview of the doctors vein, he is sure to 
be called upon by his brethren to perform the task. 
And yet it will be asked, why some of the literary 
and working posts of the Church have not been as- 
signed him ; why he has not been made editor of 
some of our periodicals, for example. Perhaps the 
true answer to this question is, the doctor, touching 
some points of our publishing policy, has long since 
been considered somewhat radical, while as regards 
his caution, in this case, it does not assume a circular, 
but a right-angled configuration. In body, as in 
mind, he possesses almost unequaled powers of endur- 
ance. Tall, straight, and wiry-nerved, with all the 
great functions of life in a healthy condition, with not 
a superfluous pound of flesh about him, and with 
dietetical habits conformed to no laws of hygiene, it 
is wonderful how nature bears up under the heavy 
draft of toil laid upon it, and recovers her exhausted 
strength with such a readiness and rapidity as are 
exemplified in his case. The doctor eats very little, 
and thus rests the stomach. As an author and re- 
porter, he has been more of an editor and compiler 
than an originator; hence the severer work of the 
brain, a work which he is by no means unable to 
perform, has been resorted to but comparatively sel- 
dom. The stomach and brain seem never to have 



446 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

been on any other than that of friendly relations, a 
state of things, in the life of a literary man, most rare. 
Thongh now forty-seven years of age, the doctor was 
]iever ill of any disease but the ague. Of this dread- 
ed denizen of the West he thinks he has received 
more than his full share of favors. And, indeed, to 
see him walk, one would suppose that he has never 
properly recovered from the shakings of this giant 
monopolist of Western sickness, in so many parts. 
Though lank and lean as the writer of this article, 
but five times stronger, and straight as an Indian, yet 
with head, or, perhaps, his hat inverted toward the 
right or left shoulder, for it seems to be perfectly 
accidental, he has an ambling, shuffling walk; his long, 
attenuated extremities, particularly the one on the 
left, is turned out at the toes at an angle of nearly 
forty-five. He never seems to loiter or be in a spe- 
cial hurry, and least of all does his head hang down 
as if he had done something to be ashamed of; nor 
does he hold up his head as if putting on airs ; nor is 
there any particular look of abstraction in his coun- 
tenance, as if he could not live in the outward world 
of common things, and the inner world of thought 
and analysis, at the same time. His whole air is that 
of a kind citizen of this world, who is constantly 
trying and hoping to make it better before he goes 
out of it. With brow decidedly intellectual and 
countenance deep-hued with benevolence, a most legi- 



REV. W. P. STRICKLAND. 447 

ble index of generous emotions, and we had almost 
said of reckless liberality, with mouth aa big as 
Henry Clay's, always ready to part in smiles, every 
one feels at once the prepossessing power of Dr. 
Strickland's i^resence. One at once desires him for a 
friend, and it is easy to make and keep him snch, 
while those who incur his enmity are generally to be 
found wanting in that forbearance which is always 
mutually necessary between friend and friend. His 
disposition, probably, is a little too volatile; his con- 
versation, in the frankness of unrestrained confidence, 
often bordering on the light, though never on the 
trifling. But were he grave and given to a sad coun- 
tenance, while, perhaps, it would not improve his 
religion, it certainly would, long since, have ruined 
his stomach, and the General Conference would not 
have had a reporter in Dr. Strickland, who could 
have written twelve hours a day without languor or 
fatigue. 

As a preacher, Brother Strickland possesses much 
versatility of talent, and a strongly-marked individu- 
ality. He is learned, logical, or eloquent, or all togeth- 
er, seemingly to suit occasions. His gestures are 
graceful, though his voice is often very badly man- 
aged. Had he, as perhaps he ought to have done, 
concentrated his undivided powers upon the pulpit, 
history might have been found repeating herself, (she 
has not yet done so,) in returning to our pulpit a 8ec- 



448 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

ond Strange in Strickland. As an author, Dr. Strick- 
land has become quite voluminous, if he has not 
famous. We remember the following volumes as the 
product of his pen, which have appeared, we believe, 
somewhat in the order in which we here name them: 
History of the American Bible Society; History of 
Methodist Missions ; Biblical Literature ; Christianity 
Demonstrated ; Genius and Mission of Methodism ; 
Light of the Temple ; Astrologer of Chaldea ; and 
Pioneers of the West. Besides these, he has just 
edited and issued, Arthur in America, and has here- 
tofore edited for different persons several very popu- 
lar works, among which may be named, Finley's, or 
the " Old Chief's." Finley's Autobiography, in our 
estimation, is Dr. Strickland's masterpiece in au- 
thorship. 

Brother Strickland was born in the West ; born in 
the "Iron City," Pittsburgh, and raised and educated 
a Buckeye. Owing to the failure of his father in 
business, he was thrown poor upon the world, and 
was compelled to make his way in it without any 
further help from parents than their pious advice and 
prayers, and has never had a tender of help from any 
other source until it was too late to be needed. He 
entered Athens, the seat of the Ohio LTniversity, on 
foot, and almost barefoot at that ; and by the most 
rigid self-denial and economy, succeeded in obtaining 
an education. Pealizing that God had called him to 



REV. W. P. STRICKLAND. 44 9 

the work of the ministry, while his fellow-chums were 
playing on the green, he busied himself reading the 
Bible in his room, or, perhaps, praying in secret in 
the college cupola. He ultimately obtained from this, 
his alma mater, the degree of Doctor of Divinity. 

He entered the traveling connection in Ohio, in 
1832, and traveled his first circuit as a colleague of 
L. L. (now ex-bishop) Hamline. In addition to cir- 
cuits which he traveled, he was stationed ten years, 
was agent of the American Bible Society ^Ye years, 
for the past year and a half has served as colonization 
agent, and has recently been transferred to the ]^ew- 
York Conference. While preparing this meager 
sketch, he sits before us doubled over the reporter's 
table, something like the shutting up of a twelve-inch 
rule which is all of a size, and is making to us imin- 
telligible characters upon paper nearly as fast as rain 
drops would fall upon it in a shower. At this mo- 
ment he has cast a furtive glance at us, as if in sus- 
picion for the obtrusive, scrutinizing stare we have 
once more given our old friend. "We pocket our pen- 
cil, and retire. 



450 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 



REV. JACOB G. DIMMITT, 

>► OF THE IOWA CONFERENCE. 

The class of temperament and social character to 
which the subject of this sketch belongs, was repre- 
sented in the Apostle John. The prominent language 
of his countenance is that of benevolence ; and the 
particular relations of his nose and forehead, the 
spirit thus indicated physiognomically, would have 
thrown the usually composed Howard into a paroxysm 
of delight. We will venture to say that Brother Dim- 
mitt's enemies have always been so few, that it would 
have been a kind of ITorth Pole exploring expedition 
to find one, at least an inveterate one. His brow 
recedes from the radix of his nose, which is long; 
and hair scarce upon the apex of his forehead, where 
more hair ought to be. His eyebrows are heavy and 
intellectual, mouth large, and chin and corporeal 
^proportions obeying the same general law of projec- 
tion that marks his whole physical contour. He is 
stout built ; and when a boy, if told to walk light by 
throwing himself forward upon his toes, we think there 
can be but little doubt that he failed to execute the 
maneuver to perfection. The center of his perpen- 
dicular is certainly as far back as his heels ; and he 
has a straight, strong " backbone," both literally and 



REV. J. G. DIMMITT. 451 

figuratively. His kindness would not betray his 
firmness in a matter of right ; it would, however, and 
doubtless often has, in a mere matter of benevolence. 
We should expect to find him discommoding himself 
to accommodate others, occasionally, even to a fault. 
He is modest, almost to sensitiveness, and yet the 
proper appreciation by his friends of felt merit by no 
means fails to give him pleasure. We should be sori-y 
if it did. For not so far to respect human nature as 
to ordinately gratidate in its approval, is the very 
point where modesty degenerates into affectation, the 
lowest form of egotism. 

Brother D. was a niember of the General Con- 
ference at Boston, four years ago. He is wise in 
counsel, reliable, and industrious, though we believe 
he does not make many speeches. This he could 
do, however, as well as the best, were he not a lit- 
tle too hard proof against the contagion of speech- 
making. In argument he is said to be somewhat 
original, and to indicate some marked individu- 
alisms. His education, though limited for the want 
of early opportunities, like a frugal merchant who 
operates most successfully on a small capital, he makes 
to go a great way. In addition to a respectable En- 
glish education, he has slightly pushed his studies into 
the classics, and can do something respectable in the 
way of reading the ]Js"ew Testament in its vernacular. 

Bis age is about fifty ; and being blessed with a pray- 

29 



452 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

ing mother, he was also blessed with an early con- 
version. He entered the itinerancy, in the Ohio 
Conference, in 1839, and was transferred to the gi*eat 
West in 1850. He received his first appointment in 
the Iowa Conference, of which he is a member, to the 
Centenary Church, in the city of Dubuque, and is 
now presiding elder on the district of that name. He 
writes occasionally for our Church periodicals, and 
has delivered sundry sermons, speeches, and addresses, 
the publication of which has been called for by those 
who heard them. As a preacher, he is both popular 
and useful, and the surface elements in his popularity, 
that enter largely into his sermons, consist in a good 
style, a pleasant voice, and a winning spirit. Intrin- 
sically, his sermons are occasionally somewhat declam- 
atory, but this is rather the exception than the rule. 
He generally takes hold of some great pillars of 
thought in the temple of truth, so that the people 
feel that they have no less a mental feast than a feast 
of feeling. Ignorant at this moment of the thoughts 
we are perpetrating upon him, and as it is a moment- 
ary stormy period in the Conference, some half a 
dozen trying to get the floor at once, he is looking 
directly at the little hammer in the hands of the 
bishop, seeming to wish that it might fall down with 
greater momentum, and glancing alternately to the 
right and the left, and, we doubt not, conning the text, 
" Brethren, let your moderation be known to all men." 



BEV. J. L. THOMPSON. 463 



REV. J. L. THOMPSON, 

OF THE NORTHWESTERN INDIANA CONFERENCE. 

" The king is great upon his throne, 

The canon in liis stall ; 
But a right, good man, 

Is greater than they all." 

This venerable brother lias been a sexagenarian 
for five years, " and yet his eye is scarcely dimmed, 
or his natural force abated." He wears not that 
bright grayness of age always the result of the turbu- 
lence of the workings of the more inferior and secu- 
lar passions of the mind, but his locks are of somber 
whiteness, resembling the mistletoe, the "beard of 
the cypress," reminding one of the long past, and in- 
spiring solemn feelings of reverence, and of the near- 
ness of the more solemn future. He is fleshy, but 
can scarcely be called corpulent, as his entire build, 
by the law of symmetry, calls for the physical pro- 
portions developed. While he bears the marks of 
time, and long and sturdy conflict in the battle of 
life, he does not of disease. "We should think that a 
large measure of good health had fallen to his lot. 
This was necessary in view of tlie labor he had to 
perform, and the trials he was destined to endure. 
An air of cheerfulness and equanimity of tempera 



464 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

ment liang on his face, like lingering sunbeams of 
evening in the top of the great oak, while the shad- 
ows of night are gathering around him. He is not at 
all given to rapture or ecstasies, which are sweet but 
evanescent, so much as he is to habitual patience and 
joy. He sternly eschews fretfdness and desponden- 
cy, but reflects bitterly, and, as we think, justly, upon 
some of the mistakes of his protracted itinerant life. 
Though in the course of nature he and his aged com- 
panion must soon be in a condition of dependence, 
yet has he failed, under the teachings of a false zeaL 
and for fear of secularizing his holy calling, to makt, 
the least provision for that day of stern necessity 
We hope and believe that Brother Thompson will 
never be suffered to want, and yet, when he ex- 
pressed to us his decided disapprobation of his course 
in this respeot, we could but sympathize with his 
views. 

As a preacher, he belongs to the solid men of 
Zion, rather than the showy. Strong sense, practical 
views, stanchly nailed with the Scriptures, accompa- 
nie^d with an emphatic unction that at times assumes 
the parentally persuasive, when it is touchingly im- 
pressive, are the characteristics of his sermons. To 
literature, in a helles-lettres or classical sense, we be^ 
lieve he makes no pretensions, but to highly respect- 
able attainments in theological reading, Biblical exe- 
gesis, and general intelligence, he might justly put 



REV. J. L. THOMPSON. 455 

in high claims. A native of frontier Kentucky, a 
spiritual child of a mother's prayers, he was early, 
like Samuel, called to the work of God, and, after re- 
sisting this call for a number of yeai-s, from a sense 
of incompetency, he, with the wife of his youth, 
sought the wilds of Indiana to labor in the itinerant 
field. This he did not do without a struggle with 
the heart's finest feelings, and making what to many 
would be a tempting sacrifice. His father-in-law 
was bitterly opposed to the great purpose of his life, 
and tempted him to abandon it by offering to donate 
him a fine farm, negroes not excepted. Said Brother 
Thompson : " As to the farm, it is a fine present, and I 
should like to have it and retain it, but cannot bribe 
my conscience with any such price ; and as to the 
negroes, I would accept them only for purposes of 
emancipation." Brother Thompson was one of those 
stanch anti-slavery men who, a quarter of a century 
ago, could be found among Methodist preachers in, 
as well as out of, slave territory. He has not depart- 
ed a whit from the faith, but belongs to the progress- 
ives on that subject, of this General Conference, by 
every vote, word, act, and animus which he is capa- 
ble of manifesting. Arriving in Indiana, he com- 
menced at once a circuit work, and withoiTt enumer- 
ating the many circuits and stations on which he has 
labored, it is enough to say that he has left the 
fragrance of his pastoral faithfulness, some mark of 



456 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

his presence, and fond reminiscences of his memory, 
over the entire southern and central part of that great 
state. His name has been woven in the history of 
Methodism in the State of Indiana. Meeting with a 
failure of his health, after many years of itinerant 
labor, he concluded to follow further the westward 
march of our frontier civilization, and sought in the 
then sparsely-settled regions of Iowa a change of 
climate for sanitary purposes. Passing ten years in 
that territory, afterward state, in many of which he 
was in labors, and even perils, abundant, he was 
favored with a complete recovery of his health. It 
was then that his heart yearned again for his Hoosier 
home, and he returned to Indiana, where he is now a 
leading member of the Northwestern Indiana Confer- 
ence, which has appropriately honored him with a 
seat on this floor ; the second time, we believe, the 
Church has conferred upon him this honor. Licensed 
to preach by Rev. Peter Cartwright, Brother Thomp- 
son might vie with him in perils upon the prairies ; 
in perils among robbers, when lost in the woods ; in 
perils from winter's cold and summer's heat, with ex- 
ceedingly scanty supplies. Hominy, parched corn, 
jerked venison, and bear bacon, have all been famil- 
iar dishes to Brother Thompson ; 3,nd even when 
these were the only dishes, they were not always as 
familiar as an appetite made keen from long fasting 
could have desired them to have been. The march 



REV. J. L. THOMPSON. 467 

westward of a rude civilization, under the reign and 
auspices of the " ax, the rifle, and the saddle-bags," 
with Methodism leading a camp, log-cabin, and camp- 
meeting life alongside of it, to imbue it with the holy 
leaven of heaven, have been witnessed by Brother 
Thompson for half a century. In fact, he has been a 
part of the social condition of the West. 

For steady, unenthusiastic, and yet indomitable 
energy. Brother Thompson has few equals. In kind- 
ness of disposition, in truthfulness to the great laws 
of friendship, in candor and simplicity, in manly, un- 
aifected, and unobtrusive etiquette, he has no superi- 
ors. In one respect, he is a model of an old man, 
and an old Methodist preacher. He is free from 
what is technically understood by the term " fogy- 
ism." He is not always minding those about him 
that his head is white, and of the many years of long 
service which he has bestowed upon the Church. 
He attaches no merit to age, for its sake alone, and 
is never found acting the Japanese, who attempts to 
command respect and recommend his virtues by the 
length of his beard. May he live half as long as he 
has, and should Providence duplicate the time in our 
wish, we are quite certain he will never be loved 
less, and his friends, as they always have, will ever 
be on the inci-ease, while his enemies will continue 
what they are, an extinct race. 

Our venerable friend must pardon this meager 



468 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

effusion of respect, and still more meager sketch. 
We write amid the exciting scenes of the General 
Conference room, and have been induced to do so 
by the sight of Brother Thompson, now before us, 
who sits leaning, patriarch-like, thoughtfully forward 
upon his staff, and whose presence reminds us of the 
time when we sat spell-bound under his ministry, 
though full of the thoughtlessness and exuberant 
restlessness of jchildhood. Time's hand has touched 
us both, and changed our persons, circumstances, and 
relations. 



REV. B. R CRARY, A.M., 

OF THE INDIANA CONFERENCE. 

" Perseverance is a Roman virtue, 
That wins each god-hke act, and phicks success 
E'en from the spear-proof crest of rugged danger." 

Brother Crary is a marked man, and has already 
made his mark. His career, like that of self-made 
men generally, is of itself remarkable. Born in an 
obscure part of Indiana, of respectable though poor 
parentage, he has worked himself up to his present 
position, by that indomitable perseverance which 
always characterizes a man of energy. The facilities 
of education being small, he availed himself of the 



REV. B. F. CRARY. 469 

best in his power, until he became proficient, not 
only in the elementary branches, of absolute neces- 
sity to all, but succeeded in making proficiency in the 
classics and French language. His success in self- 
education, is attested by the judgment of the Indiana 
Asbury University, of which he is trustee, in confer- 
ring upon him the title which his name so worthily 
bears. "When called to preach, he reluctantly yield- 
ed, and was urged into the work by the solicitude of 
his brethren. His heart was upon another profession, 
the study of the law, in which he had made pro- 
ficiency, and commenced business. He became a 
member of the Indiana Conference in 1845, in those 
days when those giants of power flourished wdthin its 
bounds, Simpson, Ames, Berry, the Woods, James, 
Havens, Cooper, and others. As a preacher, he oc- 
cupies a high position among his brethren. He is 
logical, pungent, positive, earnest. He never preach- 
es a sermon that indicates any of that theological su- 
perficiality, often less the result of natural ability, 
than the want of early mental discipline. Like 
Shakspeare's tide, which must be taken at its flood 
to lead on to fortune, there is a period in most men's 
lives, in which, if a little hard study be not done, 
there can be no substitute for it ever after. 

He is yet but thirty-four years of age, and may be 
considered, tlierefore, in the morning of life ; and if 
there be any weakness incorporated in his energy, 



460 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

it is the usual weakness of impulsive minds, impa- 
tient of success. He has moved, as yet, within a 
narrow, though important circle. After filling the 
princip^il stations in central Indiana, he served one 
year on the Bloomington District, which he left for 
Indianapolis District, which district he still occupies, 
and from which he was elected member of the late 
General Conference, leading his delegation. For so 
young a man, he did himself enviable credit by his 
services in that body. His speech on the slavery 
question was made under circumstances very unfa- 
vorable, though it was well received, the anti-slavery 
cause ably supported, and Brother Crary lost nothing 
in reputation as an able polemic. Crarj^'s name is 
somewhat widely circulated as a correspondent of the 
Western Christian Advocate, and now and then of 
the IN'orthw^estern Christian Advocate. His letters 
are strongly marked by mental individualism. They 
abound in quaint, abrupt, angular, and forcible ex- 
pressions. One sometimes trembles for the writer, 
to see what is coming next. In reading some of his 
letters, one would be ready to infer that Satan had 
provoked him to madness, and that the duty of min- 
isters now in w^arring against sin, was that of Milton's 
angels, to make hona fide war with him, and unseat 
the mountains and hills, with all their shaggy tops, 
and employ them as missiles. Others would infer the 
presence of toe great a degree of biliousness, and would 



REV. B. F. CRARY. 461 

attribute to the writer a constitutional acerbity. 
Nothing, however, is further from the truth than all 
this. Paradoxical as it may seem, an apparently 
imprudent author is found to be one of the most pru- 
dent of men. What he has yet written, therefore, is 
to be considered rather the scintillations of a power 
that would soon grow sufficiently grave and cautious 
w^ith the proper responsibility. His name was asso- 
ciated, at the last Genei-al Conference, as editor for 
one or two of our principal Church papers. "We do 
not believe that he would have disappointed his 
friends, and as he has a long career before him, 
should a merciful Providence spare his life and 
health, (his health, we believe, is very near perfect,) 
he may yet be needed for these posts of weighty re- 
sj)onsibility. If he bemean himself aright, and de- 
light in such a calling, he may well afford to bide 
his time without any dangerous risk. 

In that great cause of reform, the temperance 
cause, Crary has labored long, with a steady and un- 
compromising zeal, and the distiller and vender both 
hate and have learned to fear him. They would 
respect him if this type of human nature did not gen- 
erally degenerate so rapidly as to become incapable 
of respecting merit and worth. In sociability of 
habit. Brother Crary is ardent, warm, communica- 
tive, unsuspecting. He speaks plainly, without 
dreaming of giving ofiense, and receives the same in 



462 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

return even with interest, without taking offense 
IS'or is he wanting, in any sense, in the manners of 
the true gentleman, especially the true, whole-heart- 
ed Hoosier gentleman, the best type of a man purely 
Western that ever lived. As a friend, he is confid- 
ing, generous, and true as a mathematical problem. 
He finds it not in his heart to forget you, because he 
does not frequently see you, and you lose not his 
sympathies by absence. "While the name of no 
brother is allowed to suffer reproach knowingly, in 
his presence, the name of his friend he wears upon 
his heart, which, like the jewel upon the bosom of 
beauty, must be kept bright. 



REV. R. S. RUST, A.M., 

OF THE N E W-H AMPSHIRE CONFERENCE. 

" No enthusiast ever yet could rest, 
Till those about him were like himself possess'd." 

This brother is marked physically among his breth- 
ren on the floor of the General Conference, while he 
makes his mark morally about as certain and deep 
as any other man. His height is below the ordinary, 
and yet he is not a little man. His head is covered 
with a large, bushy mass of gray hair, obstinately 



REV. R. S. RUST. ^ 468 

inclined to stand up, and it does bristle and bob in 
every direction. He is a man who never wearies, 
and it seems as unnatural for him to keep still as it 
is for bruin in his native forest. You may always 
see him in the conference room, as he is one of those 
appearing men that no one can help seeing. At this 
moment he is struggling for the floor; and though, as 
respects alertness in diplomacy, Brother Eust need 
yield to but few, yet he is unsuccessful this time. 
His whole system seems to pulsate under the disap- 
pointment. He wishes to speak for his conference, 
the IS'ew-Hampshire, the delegation from which he 
leads. We are at this moment watching his gray 
and well-formed head, and his really intellectual 
countenance, as the one is drooped in despair, while 
the other burns with indignation. It is really amus- 
ing to watch these unconcealed demonstrations of 
disappointment. It is but characteristic of the man. 
His heart is always upon his lips. His frankness 
converts him into a transparency. But if disap- 
pointed, as he was, in the privilege of making one of 
the speeches, (and had he been thus privileged, his 
speech would have been one of them^ he is found 
availing himself of all social opportunities, of all op- 
portunities in caucus, to carry his favorite measures. 
Indeed, we never saw one better adapted to the duties 
of those kind of meetings called caucuses than did 
Brother Rust seem to be. If the meeting at times 



464 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

became tiimiiltiions, he was cool and collected, seek- 
ing to bring order out of confusion, while at all times 
his remarks would be characterized by good sense 
hugely strong, and his address dignified by urbanity 
and all the graces of the gentlemanly polemic. 

Brother Rust's age is about forty, and though his 
hair is far too gray for his years, yet he obstinately 
refuses to be classed among the "fathers." He gradu- 
ated at the Middletown University in 1841, and im- 
mediately engaged in teaching, first as principal of 
Ellington Seminary, and afterward as principal of 
the High School at Middletown. In 1844 he joined 
the ISTew-England Conference, and was stationed at 
Springfield. He was soon transferred to the confer- 
ence of which he is now a member, and appointed 
principal of the New-Hampshire Conference Sem- 
inary, where he remained five years, giving almost 
universal satisfaction. As an educator. Brother Rust 
has won a most enviable distinction in the State of 
New-Hampshire. He received the appointment of 
State School Commissioner for three successive years, 
in which responsible post he rendered very high satis- 
faction, his reports being reputed superior to anything 
with which the state had been furnished on that sub- 
ject, the secular papers speaking of them as being ably 
and elegantly written, and including in their embrace 
many matters overlooked by his predecessors. At 
the close of the five years during which he was de- 



REV. R. S. KUST. 465 

voted to the work of eclncation, Brother Rust retunied 
to the regular work of the ministry, and has since 
filled some of the most responsible stations of his 
conference. As a preacher, he is forcible, earnest, 
sensible, and always evangelical. He does not startle 
by his brilliancy nor lose one in his profoundness, but 
he talks with such sweet good sense, discourses with 
such a lovety simplicity on the incomparable themes 
of the pulpit, that he will never want hearers, always 
have his full share of admirers, and stand out as a 
model of the class of preachers to which he belongs. 
He preached last Sabbath in this city; and though it 
was not our pleasure to hear him, conversing with a 
friend who did, he spoke of the effort as being quite 
equal to the best he had heard at the General Con- 
ference. We regret, however, to learn that he has 
fallen into the habit, owing to his very ready facility 
as a writer, of often reading his sermons. We must 
ever regard the pulpit, and especially the Methodist 
pulpit, as surrendering her highest powers when a 
manuscript comes between it and the people. The 
preaching of a sermon is not a literary performance, 
a literary entertainment. It is conversation with the 
people about that which pertaineth to eternal salva- 
tion. 

We scarcely know why we have thus extended 
this sketch. It is, perhaps, because the man of 
steady, hard work is always, to our mind, a specimen 



466 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 

of moral beauty. We always love to work in causes 
good and noble, and the working man was always, 
to us, a congenial spirit. It is not the flashes of 
genius, nor any special gift of talent, that has ele- 
vated the subject of this sketch to the enviable posi- 
tion he occupies in the Church and in the world, as 
a preacher, ecclesiastic, and educator. It cannot be 
said of him he is a man of genius or profound talent. 
He possesses enough of both, which, by the aid of 
another quality we shall mention, have made the 
man: enthusiasm^ a warm, gushing, restless enthu- 
siasm, one that works in self-defense, toils in self- 
indulgence, and inspires those around him with a 
similar spirit. There have always remained for 
Brother Rust talent, genius, enthusiasm, but the 
greatest of these is enthusiasm. 



THE END. 



NEW BOOKS, 

PUBLISHED BY CABLTON AND POBTER, 
200 Mulberry-street, New-York. 



FOR SALE ALSO BY J. P. MAGEE, 5 CORNHILL, BOSTON, AND 
Jl. H. MATTESOX, SENECA-STREET, BUFFALO. 

The Life and Times of Bishop Bedding. 

Life and Times of Rev. Elijah Iledding, D. D., late Senior Bishop of 
the Methodist Episcopal Church. By Rev. D. W. Clark, D. D. 
With an Introduction, by Rev. Bishop E. S. Janes. Pp. 686. Price, 
large 12mo., $1 50; 8vo., $2 00. 
A memoir of the Kev. Dr. Iledding, late senior bishop of the Methodist Church, 
has been prepared by the Rev. Dr. Clark, which is published in a handsome 
volume. It professes to portray the life and times of this venerable man, and 
involves almost the entire history of this denomination, at least for some thirty 
years past. In the controversies and vicissitudes of the denomination durin;; 
this period, Bishop Hedding took always a prominent part, giving the character- 
istic form and policy to the issue. lie was evidently a man of great energy and 
power, and possessed those personal qualities which make fast friends and gave 
him a preponderating influence in the Church of which he was so long bishop. 
Tlie religious traits of his character were prominent as well as peculiar. The 
memoir is composed with great beauty of style and affectionateness of feeling: 
iiiid altogether it will be regarded by the denomination as a welcome and 
instructive work. — New -York Evangelist. 

'W'c have received a copy of this work, wliich presents, mechanically, an 
eleganl appearance. We have not yet found time for its perusal, but when we 
do, we .shall speak more minutely ^f it. The name of Bishop Hedding lingers 
ill the memory of the Cliurch like the fragrance of a rose after its beauty hath 
departed, and is cherished with a filial fondness, while that of the talented 
author is a surety that bis onerous but honorable task is well performed. This 
book must have a large and ready sale. — North-Western Christian Advocate. 

Life of Rev. Robert Newton. 

The Life of Rev. Robert Nev.ton, D. D., by Thomas Jackson, em- 
bellished with a fine portrait. 12mo., pp. 427. Price, $1 00. 
Chis volume is destined to have a great run. Although it has been published in 
London but a few wcek"^, sixteen ihoi'.sand copies have already been sold. 

Temporal Power of tiie Pope. 

The Temporal Power of the Pope : containing the Speech of the Hon. 

Joseph R. Chandler, delivered in the House of Representatives of 

the United States, January 11, 1855. With Nine Letters, statinjr 

the prevailing Roman Catholic Theory in the Language of Papal 

Writers. By John M'Cuntock, D. D. 12mo., pp. 154. Price, 45 

cents. 

A scrjes of letters to the Hon. J. R. Chandler, stating the preval'ing Roman 

C'atliolic tlieory in tiie language of papal writers, forms the substanco of this 

voliune. Tiiey were prepared in reference to the speech of Mr. Cliandler, 

•'t-iivered at tl;e Inst session of Congress, and from tlie position and character of 

the writer, as well as from his mode of treating ihe subject, are eminently 

deserving of public attention.— ^'i Y. Trihnnc. 

(Javlton «fc Pliillips, No. 200 Mulberry-street, New-York, have just issued a 
ne:U duodecimo volume of one Imndred and fifty-four pages, with the foregoing 
title. It needs not that we sav tlie work is a most timely and masterly produe- 
Mon. — We.stern Christian A-chocat". 



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FOR SALE ALSO BY J. P. MAGEE, 5 CORNHILL, BOSTON, AND 
E. H. MAHESON, SENECA-STEEET, BUEFALO. 

A Model for Men of Business. 

A Model for Men of Business : or, the Christian Layman contemplated 
among his Secular Occupations. Revised and Modified from the 
Lectures of Eev. Hugh Stowell, M. A., Incumhent of Christ's 
Church, Salford. With an Introduction, by Rev. D. Curey. 16mo., 
pp. 322. Price, 35 cents. 
An excellent little volume, indicating its character in its title-page, and forcibly 
presenting the morality of the Gospel to the acceptance of men of business. 
There is so much in every day life to call our thoughts away from God — so much 
to blunt our sensibilities to the moral principles which should govern and direct 
every Christian man in all his intercourse with the world, that a book like tliia 
cannot but be a most profitable companion for all who desire to be at last accepted 
in Christ Jesus. We welcome its appearance. For sale at the Methodist book- 
stores generally.— 3/>-!57i. Protestant. 

This is a work much wanted to carry the sanctity of the Sabbath into the busi- 
ness of the week — to make religion, with business men, an ever-present and all- 
pervading principle. It is well written, and highly edifying. Let it be widely 
circulated. — Pitttiburgh Christian Advocate. 

The Life and Times of Bishop Hedding. 

Life and Times of Rev. Elijah Hedding, D. 1)., late Senior Bishop of 
the Methodist Episcopal Church. By Rev. D. W. Clark, D. D. 
With an Introduction, by Rev. Bishop E. S. Jaijes. Pp. 68G. 
Price, large 12mo., $1 50 ; 8vo., $2 00. 

The Temporal Power of the Pope. 

The Temporal Power of the Pope : containing the Speech of the Hon. 
Joseph R. Chandler, delivered in the House of Representatives of the 
United States, January 11, 1855. With Nine Letters, stating the pre- 
vailing Roman Catholic Theory in the Language of Papal Writers. 
By JoHX M'CiJCXTOCK, D. D. 12mo., pp. 154. Price, 45 cents. 
Last winter Hon. Joseph K. Chandler, a Catholic, and Eepresentative in Con- 
gress from Pennsylvania, being hard pressed by anti-Eomanist influences, madf» 
a speech, in which he denied the political supremacy of the pope. In doina. 
this, he showed himself possessed of the cunning of a Jesuit, or the weaknes'i 
of a neophyte. Dr. M'Clintock, in a series of nine letters, has thorouglily ex- 
posed the weakness and sophistry of Mr. Chandler's speech. It is a volume for 
intelligent readers — none others will relish the learning and the nice discrimina- 
tion which pervade the work. — Northern Christian Advocate, Auburn, N. 1' 

A scries of letters to the Hon. J. E. Chandler, stating the prevailing Eonian 
Catliolic theory in the language of papal writers, forms the substance of this 
volume. They were prepared in reference to the speech of Mr. Chandler, deliv- 
eied at the last session of Congress, and from the position and character of the 
writer, as well as from his mode of treating the subject, are eminently deserv- 
ing of public attention. — X. Y. Trihune. 

Carlton «fe Phillips, No. 200 Mulberry-street, New-York, have just Issued a 
neat duodecimo volume of one hundred and fifty-four pages, with tho foregoing 
title. It needs not that we say the work is a most timely and masteily pro- 
duction. — Western Christian Advocate. 



NEW BOOKS, 

PUBLISHED BY CARLTON AND PORTER, 
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FOR SALE ALSO BY J. P. MAGEE, 5 COEinnLL, BOSTON, AND 
H. H. MATTESON, SENECA-STREET, BIJPFALO. 



The Young Man Advised. 



The Young Man Advised: Illustrations and Confirmations of soma 
of the Chief Historical Facts of the Bible. By E. 0. Haven, D. D 
12mo., pp. 329. Price, 75 cents. 

Let no one suppose that we have here a book of commonplace counsels to the 
young. The writer has seized upon some of the chief historical facts of the Bible, 
from which he has drawn illustrations, which he commends to the study and 
instruction of his readers, and thus in a new and most striking form has conveyed 
p-eat practical truths which can hardly fail to make a deep impression upon tho 
youthful mind. He displays no slight degree of research in his own studies^ 
and the whole is clothed with such historical beauty as will charm while his 
words will instruct the student— iVetc - York Observer. 

Bishop Baker on the Discipline. 

A Guide-Book in the Administration of the Discipline of the Methodist 
Episcopal Church. By Osmon C. Baker, D. D. 12mo., pp. 253. 
Price, GO cents. 

This is truly a volume for the times, as it will furnish important aid to every 
administrator of discipline. The book is an indispensable one to every preacher, 
and as such wc recommend it without hesitation.— W'estern Christian Advo- 
cate. 

Preaching required by the Times. 

Essays on the Preaching required by the Times, and the best Methods 
of obtaining it ; with Reminiscences and Illustrations of Methodist 
Preaching: including Rules for Extemporaneous Preaching, and 
Characteristic Sketches of Olin, Fisk, Bascom, Cookman, Summer- 
field, and other noted extemporaneous Preachers. By Abel 
Steveks. 12mo., Price, 65 cents. 

A Model for Men of Business. 

A Model for Men of Business : or, the Christian Layman contemplated 
among his Secular Occupations. Revised and Modified from the 
Lectures of Rev. Hugh Stoweix, M. A., Incumbent of Christ's 
Chnrch, Salford. With an Introduction, by Rev. D. Curky. 16mo., 
pp. 322. Price, 35 cents. 

An excellent little volume, indicating its character in its title-page, and forcibly 
presenting the morality of the Gospel to the acceptance of men of business. There 
is so much in evcry-daylife to call our thoughts awayfromGod — so much to blunt 
our sensibilities to the moral principles which should govern and direct every 
Christian man in all his intercourse with the world, that a book like this cannot 
but be a most profitable companion for all ^^ iio desire to be at last accepted in 
Christ Jesus. Wc welcome its appearaiice. Tor sale at the Methodist book 
etore? ^encraWy.- - J f.t'i. /'.■■(■Usinnf. 



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PUBLISHED BY CARLTON AND PORTER, 
200 Multerry-street, New-York. 

Compendium of Methodism, (is™ edhion, eetised.) 

A Compendium of Methodism: embracing the History and Present 
Condition of its various Branches in all Countries ; with a Defense 
of its Doctrinal, Governmental, and Prudential Peculiarities. By 
James Poktee, D. D. 12mo. Price, $1 00. 

" This \v-ork is a valuable acquisition to our Church literature. It embodies much 
important information, arranged in a natural and convenient form, and affords a 
good general outline of Methodism— its history, doctrine, government, and pe- 
culiarities—without the trouble of extensive research on the part of the reader. 
It is a work of much merit, I do cheerfully commend it, as a whole, to the fa- 
vorable consideration of our friends and the public generally."— T. A. Mokeis, 
Mshop oftlie M. E. Church. 

Porter on Revivals, (temh thousand.) 

Revivals of Religion, their Theory, Means, Obstructions, Uses, and 
Importance ; Avith the Duty of Christians in regard to them. By 
James Poktee, D. D. 16mo. Price, 35 cents. 

Five editions in little more than a year, attest the excellence of this essay on a 
subject of vast importance to the Christian world. The topic is treated fully and 
faithfully, and in a spirit of Christian love which will commend it to all. — 
Evening Bulletin. 

This volume ought to be widely circulated, and read by all whose prayer is, 
" Thy kingdom come." — Richmond Christian Ad/vocate. 

A work adapted for general circulation among the people. 

Methodist Social Hymns. 

Compiled by Rev. Stephen Paeks. 24mo. Price, 30 cents. 

Biography of Rev. John Clark. 

The Life of Rev. John Clark. By Rev. B. M. Hall. With Portrait. 
12mo. Price, 80 cents. 

Autobiography of Peter Cartwright, 

The Backwoods Preacher. Edited by Y/. P. Steickland. With Por- 
trait. 12mo. Price, $1 00. 

A book full of thrilling incidents connected with itinerant life in the wilderness 
of the West, and written in the author's quaint and nervous style. The book 
contains a most striking likeness of the author, executed by the best New-York 
artist. 

French Mission Life. 

French Mission Life; or, Sketches of Remarkable Conversions, and 
other Events, among French Romanists in the City of Detroit. With 
Five Letters to the Roman Catholic Bishop residing in that City. 
By Rev. T. Cartee. 16mo. Price, 45 cents. 



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GIFT AND LIBRARY BOOKS. Square rorm. 

E VER YD A Y BOOK FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. 

Harry Biidd. 

Tn rariouH fifi/Us of hindhif/, at prices fro)H 50 cenU uinvard. 
This is decidedly the hest hook of its class uv? have ever read. The Orphan's 
story has nothing of the marvolous in it, yet it is so conducted as to impress — 
indelibly impress— the most instructive "lessons of religion- true evangelical 

f)iety in its most delightful form — on the heart and conscience; so to direct the 
ife and secure the great end of our being; so to M'orship and serve God, as to 
obtain his favor here and eternal life at his hand in the world which is to come. 
— Dr. Bond, Editor C'l-ri/itian Advocate and Journal. 

Pictorial Catechism. 

Pictorial Catecliism, muslin, 5-5 cents; gilt, 70 cents. 

Pictorial Gatherings. 

Pictorial Gatherings, muslin, 50 cents; gilt, Go cents. 

Child's Sabbath.Day Book, 

Child's Sabbath-Day Book, paper covers, 20 cents ; mnslin, 25 cents. 

Little Frank Harley. 

Little Frank Harley, paper covers, 20 cents. 

The Great Journey. 

The Great Journey, muslin, 35 cents. 

Here and There. 

Here and There, paper covers, 15 cents. 

Childhood; or. Little Alice. 

Childhood ; or, Little Alice, 37 cents. 



A String of Pearls. 



A String of Pearls. Embracing a Scripture Verse and Pious Ptcflec- 
tions for Every Day in the Year, 30 cents. 

Henry's Birthday. 

Henry's Birthday ; or, Beginning to be a Missionary, 35 cents. 



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mil SALE ALSO BY J. P. MAGEE, 5 COHNHILL, BOSTON, AND 
H. H. MATTESON, SENECA-STREET, BUFFALO. 

Systematic Beneficence. 

THREE PRIZE ESSAYS. 

The Great Reform, b}' Abel Stevexs. 

The Great Question, by Lorexzo White. 

Property Consecrated, by Benjamin St. James Fry. Price, in one 
volume, 40 cents. 
This long-expected -u-ork is at lengll) published. It comprises three essays. 
TuE Great Eeform, by Abel Stevens, covers 126 pages. It is invinciWe ia 
argument, stirring and eloquent in expression. The Great Question, by Ecv. 
Lorenzo White, of the New-England Conference, covers 234 pages. It lacks 
the directness of the former, but is scarcely less powerful in argument or stirring 
in appeal. The elucidation of Scriptural rules of beneficence should be carefully 
studied. We commend chapter tenth to the consideration of those in the 
ministry who have excused themselves from giving, because they had given 
themselves to the ministry. Pkopekty Consecrated, by Eev. Benjamin St. 
James Fry, of the Ohio Conference, covers 124 pages. It is full of strong thoughts, 
clearly and forcibly expressed, and is well worthy of the honor awarded to it. 
Its title is strikingly expressive as well as its arguments. — Ladies' Repository . 

Selections from the British Poets. 

By Eliza Woodwokth. With twelve Illustrations. Large 12mo., 
pp. 365. Price $1. 
The plan of this book of Selections is M'ell conceived. It takes in the whole 
range of British poets, from Chaucer down to Tennyson, and gives brief biograph- 
ical and critical notices of each, with some of their best and most striking pas- 
sages as s^eQivaeus.— Methodist Quarterly Remew. 

Natural Goodness. 

By Rev. T. F. Randolph Mercein, M. A. Price 65 cents. 

Its full title-page will sufficiently declare its object. It is set forth as containing 
"suggestions toward an appreciative view of moral men, the philosophy of the 
present system of morality, and the relation of natural virtue to religion." With- 
out agreeing with the author fully in his view of the natural virtues, we have 
found" his discussion one of the most interesting and able which has ever fallen 
under our notice, and Ave earnestly commend it to the attention of that large 
class of intelligent and amiable men who are resting upon their morality. For 
sale by Ide & Button.— C/^r^si^«?^ ^Y^tness. 

Daniel verified in History and Chronology. 

Showing the complete Fulfillment of all his Prophecies relating to 
Civil Affairs, before the close of the Fifth Century. By A. M. 
OsBON, D. D. With an Introduction, by D. D. Whedon, D. D. 
12mo., pp. 202. Price 60 cents. 
As the result of much patient study. Dr. Osbon has here given us new and 
striking views of that portion of Holy Writ to which his attention has been 
specially directed. His positions are antagonistic to those of all previous expos- 
itors with which we are acquainted. He states them clearly and forcibly, yet 
with becoming modesty, and meets the objections to his theory with arguments 
not easily x&ivX^^.— Christian Advocate and Journal. 



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PUBLISHED BY CARLTON AND PORTER, 
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Six Steps to Honor. 

Six Steps to Honor; or, Great Truths Illustrated. Square 12mo 

Price, G5 cents. 
Contents. First Step— Obedience. Second Step— Truthfulness. Third 
Stop— Honesty. Fourth Step— Kindness. Fiah Step— Energy and Perse- 
verance. Sixth Step— Piety. 
Beautifully illustrated with six engravinss. It is designed as a gift-book for 
the holidays, and should be road by all the boys in the land, as it contaiuH 
truths and" suggestions which, if rightly followed out, will be the means of 
making them good and useful men. 

Henry's Birthday; 

Or, Beginning to be a Missionary. A new Gift-Book, beautifully 
illustrated. Square 12mo. Price, 35 cents. 

A Winter at Wood Lawn. 

A Winter at Wood Lawn ; or, tlie Armor of Light Illustrated. Square 
12mo. Price, muslin, 65 cents. 
This charming volume is intended as a gift-book for boys and girls between 
the ages of eleven and fifteen. In a series of interesting conversations con- 
cerning the armor of the Christian, which are relieved by lively incidents, it 
imparts many valuable religious lessons, and communicates many important 
fkcts. It is elegantly and profusely illustrated. 

Boys and Girls' Hlustrated Olio. 

Square 8vo. Price, muslin, 70 cents. 
This is literally a picture-book, for it contains onk hundred illustbatioks. 
A more elegantly illustrated gift-book, for boys and girls between the ages of 
nine and fourteen, will not, we feel sure, be issued in this country. Its read- 
ing matter is instructive and unexceptionable. 

Faithful Nieolette, 

Faithful Nieolette ; or, the French Nurse. ISmo. Price, muslin, 
25 cents. 
This is a charmingly written little book, translated from the German by Mrs. 
Myebs. It illustrates the fidelity of a servant, the cheerful submission of two 
lovely children to great trials, and the providence of God in caring for those 
who trust in him. We shall be disappointed if the name of Good Nieolette 
does not become a household word in thousands of families. The volume haa 
several very superior engravings. 

Poor Nelly. 

Poor Nelly ; or, the Golden Mushroom. 18mo. Price, muslin, 28 cents. 
This is a delightful little book, containing the singular history of an orphan 
girl as related by herself when she became an old woman. Poor Nelly's trials 
will make many weep, while her goodness will command admiration. 



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Heroes of Methodism. 

The Heroes of Methodism. Containing Sketches of Eminent Methodist 
Ministers, and Characteristic Anecdotes of their Personal History. 
By Rev. J. B. Wakeley, of the New- York Conference. With Portraits 
of Bishops Ashury, Coke, and M'Kendree. Large 12mo., pp. 470. 
Price $1 25, with the usual discount to wholesale purchasers. 

Dr. M'ClintoTjk, who examined the work Iq manuscript, and is familiar witn 
it, says, in the April number of the Quarterly Eeview: "It is a work of great 
interest to the Llethodist public, and will doubtless have a great run." 

With laudable industry, Mr. Wakeley has gleaned, from a great variety of 
sources, anecdotes and illustrations of the life and character cf men to whom not 
only the Church of which they were ministers, but the world at large, and more 
especially these United States, are largely indebted. They were the pioneers of 
Christianity, men of burning zeal and undaunted perseverance ; spending their 
lives for the welfare of their fellow-men— in journcjings often, in perils of waters, 
in perils of robbers, in perils by their own countrymen, in perils in the city, and 
most especially in perils in the wilderness. With equal truth may it be said also 
of these heralds of salvation, that they were "In weariness and painfuluess, in 
watchings often, in hunger and thirst, in fastings often, in cold and nakedness." 
The perusal of this volume cannot fail to kindle anew the flagging zeal of the suc- 
cessoi'S of these truly great men. We have entered into their "labors, and it is 
owing to the blessing of the great Head of the Church upon their toil that we 
have such a goodly heritage. Mr. Wakeley has executed his task with ability, 
and his beautifully printed volume, illustrated with portraits of Asbury, Coke, and 
M'Kendree, will doubtless have, as it deserves, a wide circulation.— A'afiojiaZ 
Magazine. 



Pioneers of tlie West. 



The Pioneers of the West; or, Life in the Woods. By W. P. Strick- 
land. Price $1. 

The table of contents is quite attractive: The West ; Pioneer Explorers of tho 
West; Hunters of the West; Pioneer Settlers ; Pioneer Preachers ; Pioneer In- 
stitutions and Professional Men ; Pioneer Boatmen ; The Prophet Francis ; Lo- 
gan, the Mingo Chief; The Mountain Hunter; Indian Captivity; The "Old 
Chief," or, the Indian Missionary; The Hermit; Panther Hunting; The Squat- 
ter Family; The Lost Hunter; Wisconsin Schoolma'am. These vivid pictures 
are sketches from life. The author takes his readers with him as he traces the 
path of the pioneer explorer, settler, hunter, or preacher, and we follow the blazed 
path in the wilderness, and witness the thrilling scenes which start up on every 
hill, and in every valley, and glen, and river, until the blood chills at some deed 
of savage warfare, or warms at the recital of some of the thrilling scenes and he- 
roic incidents with which the work abounds. The interest is kept up through 
the whole volume, and the reader closes with the conviction that truth is as 
Btrange and as entertaining as fiction, and certainly more instructive. The book 
is embellished with some fine wood-cuts.— C/ir/.s-iian Advocate and Joxirnal. 



BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CARLTON & PORTER, 
200 Mulberry-street, New- York. 



Women of the Bibk. 

The Women of the Bible. By Chaules Adams. 

12mo., pp. 225. Muslin $0 60 

K^v. Charles Adams lus aimed to write a sober, faithful book, keejiiiig hid 
eye upon rocovded facts and incidents, and restraining all undue license tl 
the imagination. — Christian Advocate aiid Journal. 

In this book, the author has sought to contemplate woman precisely as the 
insjiircd pen has represented lier, so far as she has arisen to view in tho 
divine history of God's providential and gracious dispensations to mankind, 
and so fhr as that jien may have sketched more didactically her true posi« 
lion and ClwWqs.— Introduction. 

Peeps at Nature. 

Peeps at Nature ; or, God's Work and Man's Wants. With Illus- 
trations. 

18mo., pp. 526. Muslin SO 60 

It is an interesting production for the tender mind, besides being a beautiful 
book for a gift. I love such books. Tliey bring the child's mind in sweet 
and reverent communfngs with nature's God.— Rev. F. G. IIibbard. 

A very fine Sunday-school book. These conversations on natural science 
contain all the rudiments of natural theology, and yet in a style so clear 
and so simple, as to captivate the juvenile mind. — Northern Christian Adv. 

The whole have the same design, to furnish interesting information on 
natural science to the young.— iowdora Child's Companion. 

Roland Rand. 

Roland Rand ; or, God's Poor. By Mrs. C. M. Edwards. With Illus- 
trations. 

18mo., pp. 131. Muslin $0 18 

Wo have read it with great profit and delight, and we think that ho who 
can read it without feeling prompted to nobler action, and without 
moistened eyes, has but little generous emotion or philanthropy. — Illinois 
Ch-^istian Advocate. 

The design of this narrative is to show the triumph of virtue over vice, and 
the necessity of active, energetic effort on the part of the disciples of Christ. 
—Author's P)-eface. 

.A.ncient Egypt. 

Ancient Egypt : its Monuments and History. 

18mo., pp. 214. Muslin $0 24 

To the youthful student of sacred history this work will afford a key to many 
of tliosc beautiful figurative expressions used by inspired writers in th2 
Old Testament. The manners and customs of the ancient Egyptians are 
ably delineated, and cannot fail to afford profit and instruction. It ... . 
will make an agreeable comjianion during an idle hour, or a leisure mo- 
mcnt.— Christian Advocate and Journal. 

An account of one of the most ancient and interesting countries of the world. 
It furnishes a topographical description of Egypt, ... its history, espociallv 
as connected with the Scriptures; . . . and illustrations of tho Dible. 
derived from the whole history.— l^ndon Tract Magaziw-. 



BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CARLTON & PORTER, 
200 Mulberry-street, New- York. 



Closing Scenes of Human Life. 

Closing Scenes of Human Life. 

ISmo., pp. 180. Muslin $0 22 

The title of the volume indicates much — it is expressive of one of the most 
prolific sources of joy and of sorrow the world can ever know. These brier 
notices of the last hours of eminent persons may kindle in the youthful 
mind an ambition to die the death of the righteous. — Nor. Chr. Advocate, 

Ihe perusil of such facts as are here collated, cannot fail to impress favor- 
ably the 1 «>art and life of every reader. — Editor's Preface. 

Class-Lea ^ers Fireside. 

The Class-L *ader's Fireside ; ar, some Conversations on important 
Subjects. 

18mo., pp. 133. Muslin $0 18 

. The present volume will prove useful to all those youth who will carefully 
peruse it, both as a means of illustrating, in a famihar manner, many truths 
usually deemed recondite and abstruse ; and also as a means of inducing 
in them habits of thought and high-minded inquiry. — Editor's Preface. 

Columbus. 

Columbus ; or, the Discovery of America. By Geokgb Cubitt. 

18mo., pp. 163. Muslin $0 21 

A valuable publication. ... A concise and very interesting account of the 
great historic event of the fifteenth century. — Sunday Scliool Advocate. 

A very good .... account of Columbus. The author's work is original; he 
does not follow in the track of Mr. Irving. T>Ir. Cubitt is an English Wes- 
leyan minister. — Northern Christian Advocate. 

Crusades, the. 

The Crusades. 

ISmo., pp. 224. Muslin. - $0 24 

I know of no small work which presents so concise and yet so complete a 
vieAv of- those wonderful expeditions called the Crusades, as this. It is 
well written, and is full of attractions. — Eev. Daniel Wise. 

The above is an American reprint of a well-written English work. The sub- 
ject is one of great interest, and we cordially recommend the purchase and 
perusal of this little book to our young friends. — Richmcnd Chr. Advocate. 

Cyrus, Life of. 

The Life of Cyrus. 

18mo., pp. 185. Muslin SO 22 

Nothing can surpass the elegance of the language in which the "Life of 
Cyrus" is given to us in this volume ; and when we consider the number 
of ... . rare authorities which must have been consulted in order to ren- 
der the memoir one of value and weight, it is only to be wondered at how 
so much research, judgment, historical accuracy, and eloquence, could be 
expended on the materials of a volume of so low a price. . . . The advanced 
scholar need not be ashamed of having this book on his i&ble.— Christian 
Advocate and Journal. 



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ToicnJey's lUusirations of Biblical Lilcratitre. 

Illustrations of Biblical Literatiu-e : exhiliiting the History and Fate 
of the Sacred ^\ ritings from the earliest Period to the present Cen- 
tury ; including Biographical Xotices of Translators and other em: 
neiit Biblical Scholars. By James Townley, D. D, 

8vo., 2 vols., pp. 1206. Sheep $3 00 

This tcorh forms part of the cottrsc of study adopted hy the last General Con- 
ference. 

These ample volumes comprise a rich fund of instnictive and pleasing infor- 
mation on the subject of sacred biography. They have been compiled 
from a great variety of publications, many of them inaccessible to the 
geiieralityof readers, and some of lliem of extreme rarity. . . . The industry 
and accuracy of Dr. Townley will entitle his volumes to the approbation 
of the critic and the patronage of the public. Thpy afford a more compre- 
hensive view of the progress of Biblical translations, and of the literary and 
ecclesiastical history of the Holy Scriptures, than is to be found in any 
other work. — (London) Eclectic Review. 

Dr. Townley's Illustrations are essential to every good library; and to all 
persons who are desirous to attain an adequate and a correct acquaint- 
ance with the literature and the learned men of times gone hy.— Christian 
Intelligencer. 

Funeral Discourse on Mrs. Garrettson. 

Life Inexplicable, except as a Probation. A Discourse delivered in the 
Methodist Episcopal Church, Rhinebeck, New- York, July 16th, 1849, 
at the Funeral of Mrs. Catherine Garrettson. By Stephen Olin, D. D. 

ISmo., pp. 64. Paper covers $0 10 

Muslin 16 

It is characterized by the well-known ability of the preacher. The discus- 
sion of the probationary character of life is an able argument, and the 
portraiture of Mrs. Garrettson one of the noblest we have met -with.— 
Zion's Herald. 

Young on the Woi^ld's Conversion. 

Suggestions for the Conversion of the World, respectfully submitted to 
the Christian Church. By Rev. Robert Young. 

18mo., pp. 146. Muslin $0 30 

Mr. Young's object is to promote the exertions of every Christian in his own 
sphere : and he has ably shown that there is a loud call for such exer- 
tions, and sure warrant for expecting success. This volume, though small, 
is truly valuable, and cannot fail to be of service to ever}' candid reader.— 
Wesleyan Magazine. 

CcBsar, (Julius,) Life of 

Life of Julius Caesar. 

18mo., pp. 180. Muslin $0 30 

A jetter life of Julius C^esau we have never read. It is drawn from the 
best authorities, Greek and Latin ; the execution is highly creditable to the 
author, and it is written throughout on Chr.stian principles. The conclud- 
ing chapter (on Caesar's character) is an admirable summing up, and affcrds 
convincing proof that sketches of this description may be so written as to 
furnish fireside reading of a really useful as well as interesting character. 



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Father Heeves. 

Fathee Reeves, the Methodist Class-leader : a Brief Account d 
Mr. William Reeves, thirty-four Years a Class-leader in {he "Wea 
leyan Methodist Society, Lamheth, England. 

18mo., pp. 160. Muslin • . . SO It 

We sincerely thank Mr. Corderoj'^ for this little volume, which cannot fnU 
of being perused with great advantage as an incentive to strict punCu 
ality, never-failing diligence, eminent devotedness, and fervent ClirisLian 
zeal.— (iondon) S. S. Teacher s' Magazine. 

The narrative presents one of the most interesting developments of the 
honest man, fearing God and working righteousness, that for a long time 
has come before us : a fine specimen of the best order of Methodism in its 
best period. — Cliristian Witness. 

Let "Father Reeves" pass along through all our congregations; he will 
leave a blessing wherever he goes. It is just the book to stir up the Church 
A hundred thousand volumes should be scattered at once.— iSey. A. Stevens. 

The Philosophy of Faith. 

Philosophy axd Practice of Faith. By Lewis P. Olds. 

12mo., pp. 353. Muslin SO 65 

Part I. A General View of Faith — Pure, Simple, or Intellectual Faith- 
Practical, Relying, or Saving Faith— The Unity of Faith— A Living Faith 
and a Dead Faith— Unbelief the Native Condition of the Mind— Walk by 
Faith— The Three Antagonisms of Faith — Faith and Works- Increase and 
Diminution of Faith. 

Part IT. Ancient and Modern Faith compared — Faith of Nations— Con- 
gregational Faith— Faith of the Christian Ministrv— Praver and Faith- 
Faith of the Cloister— Faith of Active Life— Faith of the Ignorant— Faith 
of the Young— Faith in Prosperity— Faith in Adversity — Faith in Life and 
in Death. 

This book belongs to a class that has been rare of late years. It is a calm, 
thoughtful, yet uncontroversial survey of a great Christian doctrine in its 
bearings upon theology in general, and upon the Christian life in practice. 
We hope it may find many readers. — Methodist Quarterly Eevievj. 

Bihle in Many Tongues. 

The Bible nr Maitt Tokgues. Revised hy Daniel P. Kidder. 

18mo., pp. 216. Muslin $0 24 

A biography, so to speak, of the Bible ; and a history of its translations and 
versions in ancient and modern times. It gives, in brief, a large amount 
of religious and historical information. It is divided into four chapters, 
treating respectively of the biography of books in general, and of theBibla 
in particular— the Bible in the ancient East and at Eome — the Bible at Ibe 
Reformation— the Bible and Christian missions. 

The Converted Infidel. 

Life and Experiekce of a Converted Infidel. By John Scarlet, 
of the New-Jersey Conference. 

18mo., pp. 274. Price $0 40 

We commend this autobiography as worthy of a place among the multi- 
tude of sketches of a similar sort which Methodism has produced. It is 
specially adapted, from its simple narrative, its pleasant vein of anecdotes 
and its sound more? and doctrinal spirit, to attract and benefit young 
readers. 



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{lodgsons Polity of Methodism. 

The Ecclesiastical Polity of i\rethodisin defended : a Refutation of certain 
Objections to the System of Itinerancy in the Methodist Episcopal 
Church. By F. Hodgson, D. D. 

18mo., pp. 132. Muslin $0 30 

■* Polity of Methodi.sm" is llie title of a small volume, from the pen of Dr. 
Hodgson, in defence of the itinerant system of Methodism against the 
objections chiefly of Coiigregationalists. It is written with his usual acute- 
ness and force, and demonstratively proves that changes in the ministry, as 
involved in our itinerant system, are attended with fewer practical diffi- 
culties than Congregationalism or Presbyterianism. The work is worthy of 
a wide circulation. We shall give ample extracts from it hereafter.— 2ton'« 
Herald. 

Wesley's {John) Journal. 

The Journal of the Rev. John Wesley : being a Record of his Travels and 
Labours from 1735 to 1790, a Period of fifty-five Years. 

8vo., 2 vols., pp. 1488. Sheep $3 25 

These volumes form the most valuable history of early Methodism. 

The "Journals" of the founder of Methodism are an uncommon treasury of 
.sound learning and just criticism, and of records concerning the gracious 
influence of God on ministerial labours unprecedented and unparalleled.- 
Dr. Adam Clarke. 

Crane's Essay on Dancing. 

An Essay on Dancing. By Rev. J. Townley Crane, of the New-Jersey 
Conference. 

ISmo., pp. 130. Muslin SO 30 

The author of this little book deserves the thanks of the public. Ilis work is 
a serviceable antidote for an evil which threatens much injuiy to the 
Church, and to all good society. Dancing is a nuisance, and is so esteemed 
by all reflecting minds. — Northern Christian Advocate. 

Barrs Bible Index ami Dictionary. 

A Complete Index and Concise Dictionary of the Holy Bible : in which 
the various Persons, Places, and Subjects mentioned in it are accu- 
rately referred to, and difficult Words briefly explained. Designed 
to facilitate the Study of the Sacred Scriijtures. Revised from the 
third Glasgow edition. By the Rev. Jqhn Bare. To which is added, 
a Chronology of the Holy Bible, or an Account of the most Remark- 
able Passages in the Books of the Old and New Testaments, pointing 
10 the time wherein they happened, and to the Places of Scripture 
wherein they are recorded. 

12nio., pp. 210. Sheep SO 45 

This work is intended not only to assist unlearned readers in understanding 
the language of the Bible, but chiefly in readily turning to the places where 
every topic of information comprised in it occurs. 

Tiuly a choice companion fur the Biblical student. No one who has evei 
read it will readily consent to dispense with if. — Christian Advocate and 



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SmiWs Sacred Annals. 

Sacked Annals : or, Researches into the History and Religion of Man- 
kind. By George Smith, F. S. A., M. R. S. L., etc. In three large 
volumes. Each volume is complete in itself, and may be had sepa- 
rately. 

8vo. Price $7 00 

Vol. I. The Pateiaechal Age: or, the History and Ileligion of Mankind, 
from the Creation to the Death of Isaac : deduced from the "Writings of 
Moses, and other Inspired Authors ; and illustrated by copious References 
to the Ancient Eecords, Traditions, and Mythology of the Heathen World. 

Vol. II. The Hebeew People : or, the History and Religion of the Israel- 
ites, from the Origin of the Nation to the Time of Christ: deduced from 
the Writings of Moses, and other Inspired Authors; and illustrated by 
copious References to the Ancient Records, Traditions, and Mythology 
of the Heathen World. 

Vol. III. The Gektile Nations : or. the History and Religion of the Egypt- 
ians, Assyrians, Babylonians, Medes, Persians, Greeks, and Romans; col- 
lected from Ancient Authors and Holy Scripture, and including the recent 
Discoveries in Egyptian, Persian, and Assyrian Inscriptions : forming a 
complete Connexion of Sacred and Profane History, and showing the Ful- 
filment of Sacred Prophecy. 

Mr. Smith has, in his Sacred Annals, made a valuable conti-ibution to the 
literature of the Christian evidences, as well as of ancient history. . . . 
The third volume presents as complete and clear a view of the religious 
systems of the great Gentile nations of antiquity as can be prepared from 
existing records. — {London) Literary Gazette. 

Mr. Smith has achieved a great work. . . . We praise the book as an ex- 
ceedingly important addition to the class of literature to which it belongs. 
It supplies a great want, and supphes it fully.— {London} Christian Wit- 
ness. 

Strickland- s Biblical Literature. 

A Manual of Biblical Literature. By "William P. Strick- 
land, D. D. 

12mo., pp. 404. Muslin SO 80 

The work is divided into nine parts, treating severally of Biblical Philologj', 
Biblical Criticism, Biblical Exegesis, Biblical Analysis, Biblical Archaeology, 
Biblical Ethnography, Biblical History, Biblical Chronology, and Biblical 
Geography. This enumeration will suffice to show the extent of the range 
of topics embraced in this volume. Of course they are treated summarily : 
but the very design of the author was to prepare a- compendious vmnual, 
and he has succeeded excellently.— i/ettodisi Quarterly Review. 

Memoir of Rev. S. B. Bangs. 

The Young Minister : or, Memoirs and Remains of Stephen Beekmaii 
Bangs, of the New-York East Conference. By W. 11. N. Magrudee, 
M. A. With a Portrait. 

12mo., pp. 388. Muslin $0 70 

There are some classes who may derive peculiar profit from a study of tliis 
book. Young ministers of the gospel may deduce from it the elements of a 
happy and y.rosperous professional career. Students may be led to incjuiiH 
closely into their duty, and may be prepared conscientiously to decide 
whether or not God is'calling them to the responsible work of the Chris- 
tian ministry. Parents may "see the effect of a careful and rigid and truly 
kind training of their children. And finally, all may be stimulated to a 
holy life bv tlie energetic and eloquen!: discourses that follow. —Hev. E. O, 
H'y.vc-.. 



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Arthur in America. 

Addresses delivered in New- York by Rev. Wtn. Arthur, A. M. With 
a Biographical Sketch of the Author. Also, the Address of Rev. 
Dr. Adams at the Broadway Tabernacle. " To get, to keep, to give," 
With a portrait. Edited by W. P. Stricklaxd, D. D. Carlton & 
Phillips. Price 5.5 cents. 
A most interesting and instructive volume. Tlie claims of systematic benevo- 
lence arc forciblj- urged. The wants of Ireland are set forth witli great eloquence. 
The speech of br. A<lain3 is refreshing, emanating as it does from an eminent 
divine in one Church advocating a great evangelical enterprise in another com 
m\xr\\on.— Southern Christian Advocate. 

Revised llislory of the Bible Society. 

History of the American Bible Society. Revised and brought down 
to the present time. 8vo., 509 pasres. By Wiluam P. Strickland, 
D. D. Harper & Brothjr.^. 

Strickland's Biblical Literature. 

A Manual of Biblical Literature. Bv Wiluam P. Strickland, D. D. 
404 pages. Carlton A Phillips. Muslin, 80 cents. 

The work is divided into nine parts, treating severally of Biblical Philology, 
Biblical Criticism, Biblical Exegesis, Biblical Analysis, Biblical Archajology, 
Biblical Ethnography, Bibiic.il History, Biblical Chronology-, and Biblical Geogra- 
phy. This enumeration will suffice to show the extent of the range of topics 
embraced in this volume. Of course they are treated summarily ; but the very 
design of the author was to prei)are a compendious vianiud, and he has suc- 
ceeded excellently. — 3fi'thodif<t Qu(trt3rl>j Uecieir. 

Christianity Demonstrated 

By Facts drawn from History, Prophecy, and Miracles. Price $1. 

Sketches of Western Methodism. 

By Rev. James B. Fixlev. ^Vith a likeness ol' the " Old Chief." 560 
pages. Price $1. 

This highly popular work, embracing a history of Methodism in the Great West 
from its introduction toward the close of the eighteenth century, with a descrip- 
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actor in the scenes, and containing grajjliic sketches of many of the lives of 
the most prominent in the field of itinerant labor, with many inciilents of 
thrilling interest in relation to backwoods life, has .a!rea<ly, within a space of 
!ess than two years, roachf'd a .sale (\f .s^vi'nt-mi t'lous^anf/. Whoever wants a 
reliable history of life and manners in the West will be interested in reading this 
book. 

Light of the Temple. 

By William P. Strickland. Piice 75 cents. 

Astrologers of Chaldea; 

Or, the Life of Faith. By Willlvm P. Strickland. Price 75 cent i. 



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B iograph ical SJcetch es. 

Sketches of Eminent Methodist Moisteks. With Portraits and 
other Iliustiations. Edited by John M'Clintock, D. D. 

Koyal 8vo. Price in roan, gilt edges 83 00 

Morocco S3 50 

Morocco superior extra- • $5 00 

The sketches are twelve in number : John Wesley, by the Rev. 0. T. Dub- 
bin, LL. D., of Hull College, England. William "M'Kfndkee, by IJev. 
B. St. J. Fry. Jokx Emoky, by John M'Clintock, D. D. Eobeet K. Eo?.- 
ERTS, by J. Floy, D. D. Elijah Heddtkg, by the Eev. M. L. Scudder, A. M. 
John- Fletcher, by the Eev. J. B. Ur.guny, A. Isl. Freebokn Gaeuett. 
SOX. Wilbur Fisk, by Eev. Pi-ofessor 0. H. Tiffany, A. M, Noah Levikgs, 
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and Jabez Buntikg, D. D., by Eev. Abel Stevens. An engraved portrait 
accompanies each sketch. The illui^trationsare: Epworth Chnrch: Ef- 
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Ohio; Methodist Book Concern; Madeley Church; the House in which 
Fletcher was born; Pickering's Mansion; Wesleyan Theological Institute, 
Eichmond, England ; its Entrance Kali and Principal Staircase; and a tine 
engraving of the New-England Conference, assembled in the old Eromfield- 
street Church, Boston. 

The Lam]) and tlie Lantern. 

TiiE Laji? and the Lantekn : or, Light for the Tent and the Trav- 
eller. By James Hamilton, D. D. 

ISmo., pp. 202. Muslin SO 23 

A series of eloquent lectures and essays, mostly hortatory, in Dr. Hamilton's 
best vein, on subjects connected with the reading and propagation of the 
Bible. 

Svntzerland. 

SwiTZEELAND ; UlSTOKlCAL AND DESCltlPXIVE. 

18mo., pp. 214. Muslin $0 24 

Part I. Historical : The Dim Distance— Seeds of Nationality — Heroism and 
independence — The Reformation — Wars of Religion— A' Long Peace- 
Overthrow and Reatoratiou. Part II. Descriptive : Nature — Art — Society- 

Lives of the Popes. 

The Lives of the Popes. From A. D. IGO to A. D. 1853. From the 
London Edition. 

ISmo., pp. 56S. Muslin gO 83 

We take ylensure in plncing the work before American readers in a more con- 
venient form than tliat of its first publication, and trust that it will be 
extensively perused by young a,nd old throughout our land. No nation 
ought to be better acquainted than ours with the hi.5tory of tiie Popes, and 
the .system of religion of which they are acknowledged heads ; for none lia8 
more" to f(^ir from the movements of Ecmani.sts. 

There is no work extant, to our knowledge, that covers the same ground. It 
gives in compiendious form the history of the Piipncy from its very be- 
ginning down to the i:ontitlcate of Pius IX. — a kind of information which 
the American peoi>lfi stand much in need of just now.— Methodist Quarterly 
licvievj. 

Thtt work is woll adaj ted to pojular reading, and supplies a prefiois lack in 
the L-.inciit littnaurt- of the age.— .','/. ;-:'.v!:V?;£ H';>«'-sj; 



